Horizontal snow

The Snow Storm

No hawk hangs over in this air:
The urgent snow is everywhere.
The wing adroiter than a sail
Must lean away from such a gale,
Abandoning its straight intent,
Or else expose tough ligament
And tender flesh to what before
Meant dampened feathers, nothing more.
Forceless upon our backs there fall
Infrequent flakes hexagonal,
Devised in many a curious style
To charm our safety for a while,
Where close to earth like mice we go
Under the horizontal snow.

Edna St. Vincent Millay


The weather folks began the hype last night and this time it does look like we are in for it, a true blizzard. A two day storm worse that our normal nor'easters. Sustained high winds, heavy wet snow, perhaps 15-20 inches, 38.1 cm-50 cm. We have been preparing since early morning, filling every bird feeder, firing the new plow guy who completely chummed up our driveway during the tiny last storm and finding another one. An early trip to the transfer station(a fancy name for the dump/recycling center) and pharmacy for cold remedies for T. We managed everything before the traffic and madness. Since then the phone has jangled off the hook, no time for photography. Our friend is holding her own in Maine, leaving earth was not on her list and she's angry as hell.

So, my immediate concern is for my little wayward warbler, no South American breezes for her, but she seems to be feeding and managing. She is fearless and i can get quite close. She's had suet and seeds and mealworms. I just hope I see her after the terrible storm.

We had a really lovely Christmas with my brother and his family. My nephew is home from the western part of the state and T and I adore him. He always lifts our spirits. My brother and sister in law re-created a Christmas meal that could have been served by my parents on some of my mother's dishes, it was very special. All the old favorites, right down to a common cracker pudding with eggs, milk, butter, raisins and spices. A recipe that was my grandmother's passed down from great-great & great grandmothers from Scotland named Betsey also. It's baked in a crockery pot and served with a white sauce
made from sugar, vanilla, cornstarch, butter and whipping cream. We revived the recipe a couple of years ago, my nephew even made a movie of the removal of the pudding from the pot. My grandfather was in charge of that terror, then my dad. All hell would break out if it didn't come out in one piece. Spray on oils have helped that situation thankfully now!

Heartfelt thanks for your comments and thoughts. I have had no time for looking at any blips, and commenting, but hope to get time if the power stays on. Many many thanks, for everything. The process of dying, grief, anger, letting go, all too hard almost to bear.