29 February 2008
at a leap day lunch with a friend, the waitress brought me this bowl chock full of half-and-half for my single cup of decaf. i wonder what she might have brought if i'd mentioned that i like my coffee light. sadly, i did not check to see when this stuff expires. but i shudder to think...
27 February 2008
this milk has been sitting in my fridge since saturday. seven weeks from today it promises to sour and go bad. in seven weeks easter will be over and spring will be here. the red sox will have played the yankees five times. daffodils might be in bloom and robins may have returned. so perhaps when i'm sitting at an open window in the warm evening air listening to peepers, i'll have a glass of milk. because this milk will still be good even then. and that's a pretty disturbing thought.
26 February 2008
one of the curses of any winter is dirty snow. but this winter, old snow is particularly revolting, perhaps because it's at eye level. it follows you as you drive down the street. it's on either side as you as you slide down a walkway. it mocks you when you open the door. and this pile, arrived upon at the end of a slick trip down a back road, is hands down the most unsightly of all black snow piles. in the town's defense, it looks as if it was collected somewhere else and dumped here, perhaps to make way for more snow from the forecasted storm. the one that will cover all this black snow and make it lovely and white - for about fifteen hours before it invariably reverts back to black.
24 February 2008
22 February 2008
21 February 2008
some clever someone on campus has a really good sense of humor and knows just where to put information to have it read. but judging by the font size of the publication it's meant for those with twenty-twenty vision only who can read from the toilet. and that would not be me.
20 February 2008
17 February 2008
16 February 2008
13 February 2008
12 February 2008
11 February 2008
although this may appear black to some, it actually shows the bottom three stars of the handle of the big dipper. look closely. squint. click to make it bigger. maybe another night i can see enough to capture the upper part of the asterism.
09 February 2008
as the world continues its slow conversion to all things digital, i wonder what will happen when we no longer use analog clocks. could things still "run like clockwork" if there are no "works" in a clock? will terms like "clockwise" and "counterclockwise" become archaic or obsolete and, if they do, what will we use to describe those circular directions? will we still be able to work or play "round the clock" if clocks no longer have faces, round or otherwise? no doubt some analog clocks will always be with us - the four-sided one on the Customs House in Boston, Big Ben in London, the black-faced clocks on white steeples in New England villages and towns. but digital is so quickly becoming the norm, i wonder if we'll ever wish we could turn back the hands of time on that.
07 February 2008
06 February 2008
scuttling back and forth on the path under the bird feeders, this mole had to be pretty hungry to be out in plain view in the middle of the day. it must be hard for wee critters to find food with all this snow covering the ground. i just hope they all stay outside and stick to a diet of bird seed.
05 February 2008
04 February 2008
if the days are getting longer, you can't prove it by me. i go to sleep by starlight and arise by starlight. most days i leave in this darkness in the morning and come home in darker darkness at night. i miss sunlight and think maybe seasonal affective disorder might really be real. people in far northern climes endure a period of darkness more prolonged. good thing i don't live there.
02 February 2008
ahead of me down the slush covered road i see early morning sunlight emerge from thick clouds and suddenly light up the fringes of hills and trees. the sight takes my breath away and i stop short to try to capture it before the light changes. a magical start to the weekend.
01 February 2008
the lilac outside the door now covered in ice from tonight's storm and illuminated by doorway light. a wild night with wind and rain and sleet and ice. earlier this evening i slept deeply under puffy quilts as sleet and ice pelted windows and doors, the rhythmic staccato sound a soothing lullaby to my tired mind.