Snow and home again.

"No wiser now 
Than the spellbound child
who first beheld beguiled, 
Long seventy years ago
Enchanted snow."

                                               Enchanted Snow 
                                          Melville Cane

After mentioning that there was little snow, it snowed on Jan. 5th, the day before we were heading back to Calgary.

Then winter arrived with a vengeance. I sent this email to my family on Jan. 12th.

"We are okay. We had to go out for a minor medical errand this afternoon. The temp registered outside the cab, we made no attempt to start the car, was -35. That was not the wind chill. I did do a bit on the walk this morning and I said to Helen it was about as cold as I could ever remember. Nina and Whateley are only out for a minute or so but sometimes Nina limps in and has to be carried up the steps from the landing."


But it is supposed to warm up on the weekend.

It has been a long time since we had a cow day.

 

I believe this unusually coloured cow is referred to as Mousey, but I find it is best not to get attached. 

Golden

Golden lay light upon the sill

after lunch, after school.

Day lingers slowly, a patch of light,

time pursues day retreats

but the moving trail is still new

and I wonder at the golden pool.

The window still speaks of sun

after night after years, decades of time

I see that golden time, still.

Guy

One of my older poems.

We are getting a few flakes at present, these photos show how much snow we had last January.

"White are the far-off plains, and white
The fading forests grow;
The wind dies out along the height,
And denser still the snow,
A gathering weight on roof and tree,
Falls down scarce audibly."

from Snow, by Archibald Lampman

Last night we had a lovely supper and visit with family

 

“Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.

Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies

like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,

some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,

snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn

back into the little system of his care.

All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,

tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his.”

Ted Kooser, Flying At Night: Poems 1965-1985