14th February, 2019 Thursday
Snowpocalypse. I know many of you live with major snow regularly so this might seem a bit histrionic. My little town has some ability to deal with this kind of sugar sugar sugar shaking shaking shaking out of the sky but I fear it is maxed out. We have steep hills to traverse and snow is coming at a rate that isn’t shovelable or plowable fast enough to keep pathways clear. Poor Husband shoveled three times every day for three days so that the duckels could find a place to pee right outside the door. Our driveway plower did not come for 14 inches of snow. And sugar sugar sugar keeps sprinkling down. Yesterday, we found someone else to come and dig us out. It took him four hours. My go to munch for nervous cabin fever “ I ever be able to drive out of here again” is lovely popcorn from an organic farm near Portland. Would not be so bad if I didn’t need to bathe it in sweet butter.
We had a break yesterday enough to catch our breath and melt some off before the storm that’s gearing up right now is spitting from the sky. Its Valentine’s.
I dreamt my Papa last night. Details are dim. He had something to do with telling me in images the look of my true home. There was in this some hint I am to build it. It had nice stone and halls and perched on flat land with monumental windows. I dream of home quite often now. Its always something different.
I lit a candle.
Its beautiful, this snowscape which makes me feel the weight of winters long ago. The ones I watched my mother wither in chrysalis while I was growing. She was dormant feeding off a judgement that somehow she had failed while my father worked for deeper money in his own cool cold shroud. He relied on me to keep her warm. They both were feeding off the grief all that they had thought would come to pass hadn’t as the world shifted. Their points of view had no relevance to what their children wanted.
In time he lifted her to warmth and new in a house they built by the Coastal East’s Sea. Her chrysalis broke and she sprouted vibrant wings which fluttered a new birth. My Eldest found her root there with eyes the color of that water.
I went to there when my chrysalised withers came and wafted in the tides and sun as Little Eldest danced upon the sand. We watched the marsh’s egrets and sung to dolphins when they danced so near. My wings were growing then.
My father’s chrysalis had spent itself to build the Wings which carried his beloved to her resurrecting West. She found her lofting wings aided by the rest of us for many more years in the Sunshine of the Coastal West.
Like I said, today, my air is laden with winter memories of chrysalised winters of long ago. The sugar curtain thickens as it slants in from the Eastern Gorge.
And my Wings find loft in words today of loving memories of passing husks.
Winter. Somewhere deep inside Spring lurks.
Its Valentine’s
Tea is Black and Earled.
Ta.
Tea With Me 