New Year

There was rain in the night, a dull delivering rain
That washed the air of sparkle and hard blue gleam,
And bent the frozen grasses in the meadow,
And loosed the stream.

Now is talk and laughter  of running water,
Light imperious talk of water freed.
Indolent winds stray through the winter meadow,
Winter indeed!

Everyone knows that death is a season only.
Through laughter is hushed again, and tempest shout,
It is not long till fire runs in the maples
And ice goes out. 


January Thaw, by Rosalie Dunlap Hickler


There was quite a bit of rain last night, but it didn't wash all of the sparkle out of the field this morning. It soon cleared out and proved to be a curiously warm and spring-like day. I'm pretty sure winter's not done with us yet, though. At least I hope not.

One thing that will be different about 2023 is the notable shortening of the prominent snag on the edge of the marsh, which I first posted almost two years ago (on the previous blip the snag was to the left of the frame, while in the current photo it is to the right). An observant eye comparing the two images will notice the dead tree is now shorter than the spruce next to it, a change which occurred just after our latest bout of wind. 

For many years there was a notable snag to the right of this one, which eventually fell. It seems the marsh is slowly encroaching southward, and before too long I suppose the spruce standing slightly apart from the others will become our new snag. When things either dry out or freeze over I'll probably tromp out there, stare at the dead wood on the ground for awhile, and contemplate the passage of time.

Living outside the city, you sometimes have to make your own entertainment.