Iced Mornings & Fiery Skies at Dusk

Stepping outside - cold breath stings.

For days now, the land down low is hushed, 

while above ice-bound branches 

play a forest chorus 

with winter wind.  

 While I wait for the new studio heater, 

the frozen land astonishes me.  

My snowshoes are sometimes short in distance, 

but long in duration as I lean in close 

to the magic of winter ice.

A birdbath wears a funny snow-hat.

I think I've already brushed it clean 

once or twice!

Two snowstorms this week, and maybe 

another on the way, I wonder when the snow 

mountain in the driveway will melt in spring? 

My sister and I were remembering our snow caves 

carved into the side of a hill. This pile would 

be a perfect pile for a cave.

I'm now throwing snow up and over the side of the path, 

else it tumble back down to my toes. A generous 

season of snow for Western Mass, though 

its nothing compared to some northern climes. 

Luckily, I'm still loving it, but 

I'm hearing grumblings from 

folks here and there. 

One such person is Pasha cat. He was excited 

about the relative warmth today, so came outside 

with me while I shoveled. Dashing up the tree he

went, oh so excited to be out and free! 

On the way back down, still having fun. 

Oooops, that snow pile was much deeper than expected. 

Having practically disappeared in the snow,

I just couldn't contain my laughing. 

I wasn't met with an agreeable look.  

The remainder of my snow shoveling was observed 

from the window. 

 I can't say whether the avalanche of snow

the wind released from the tree above me

had anything to do with the spectator in

the window. 

Ah well, I survived. I was wearing my 

thick wool dreadlock hat. 

I wish the dreads would grow....

Out and about earlier in the week,

my camera sits in for a paintbrush, 

capturing moments of golden light

and winter inspiration.

The last of the light brings in high drama. 

I am spellbound, walking and freezing in the subzero 

windchill, camera clicking away.

How much these last three are like my painting, 

"Gold Afternoon", above in the sidebar.

Wandering the land at the edge of the day, 

 my cauldron fills with inspiration.

Iced mornings and fiery skies at dusk -

how can I keep from singing?  

In the Land of Winter

In the land of winter, 

birch trees glow in gold morning light, 

and hemlocks bow to greet the ice-bound land. 

Dense 

snow-quiet, 

cracks open 

with the clattering of iced-bone branches. 

Warm sunlight pries away the grip of ice.

One by one, small, half-tube bits, 

clink down to the crusted snow.

Blessed with ice magic here at RavenWood, 

and grateful that it has been gentle.

Not too thick, and no high winds 

has saved us from power outages. 

For me, the loss of electricity

means hauling water, cooking on 

the wood stove, and using the "Luggable Lou". 

Not to mention daily forays on snowshoes 

to a hole dug way down in the snow 

to empty said bucket. 

Sparkling moments, crystalline forms, 

and expanses of blue-white landscapes:

I am under the Ice Queen's enchantment. 

Still awaiting the arrival of the new heater, 

my studio sits, frozen and buried in the snow. 

A quickening within me promises

the birth of new work, though, as it is 

with my cycles of creativity, 

exactly what it looks like is a mystery. 

 I balance walking, shoveling, and bringing in

 wood with afternoon tea and a good book. As the 

semester progresses, there will be more school-prep, 

more student needs, more demands on my time.

For now, I find myself in the moment,

feeling the weight and texture of the wood I carry, 

and my body's appreciation of gentle movement 

and deep breathing. 

Things on my long list don't seem as urgent as they

did a month ago. I am trusting in divine timing 

and the profoundly beneficial gift of 

rest and regeneration. 

"Blue Night", watercolor on paper, 4"x4"

Deep Winter Whispering

"Grandmother", clay, wool & feathers

The snows have come like an ancient, 

whispering grandmother, silent and powerful.  

Walking through the cold crunch of snow, 

listening to cracking trees and high, 

whistling winds, I hear winter stories 

from deep within my bones. 

Deep dreaming brings me always to my ancestors. I 

wonder about those ancient ones who survived winters

in the Northern lands of Latvia and beyond. There were 

ancestors who came from Bohemia and others from the 

Celtic lands. Still others from Georgia, so my father heard.

Though I wish their stories had been handed down like 

the silver, the story-chains have broken. It is in these times 

of deep dreaming, that something of them rises to the 

surface and broken threads are mended through my 

remembering of them. 

As a granddaughter of northern folk,   

I wonder if it is woven into me to love the 

quiet whispering of winter, and to feel 

the ancestral stories pulsing through me 

as I sit at the fire. 

Winter has blessed the forest with light and fluffy 

snow so far, with cold days and bitter nights.

Pasha and I find ourselves warming by the 

fire long into the morning. I enjoy daily 

walks in the forest or along the road, 

but Pasha is finding it just a bit too cold 

to sustain a long walk.  

Before the snows were too deep, 

I could convince him to join me for a romp 

around the yard, but as more and more 

snow has fallen, and temperatures dip 

way below freezing, I find myself 

keeping company with the puffed-up 

birds and burrowing red squirrels. 

(Do click to see the tunneling red squirrel, above)

The last storm dumped over two feet of snow, 

making getting out the back door a challenge!

The snow piles and banks along the paths grow 

steadily higher. Tonight we are expecting 

another four to eight inches. 

The snow has found itself a lovely throne in the 

winter garden, Pasha's spot for an

afternoon nap in summer. 

On my snowshoe through the forest, 

I am captivated by the simple lines of a

delicate branch, starkly contrasting with the 

white field of snow. 

Deep in the woodlands, the snow has 

decorated the trunks

with stripes. 

There is a magical beauty in the winter light, 

and a mysterious comfort I feel when the house 

is all tucked in with snow. 

Pasha questions my decision to stay out hours at a time, 

here he has crawled through the secret passageway 

to the porch and pleads with me to let him in, 

he has had enough!

On my way home from an afternoon errand, the sky

was full of winter fire in the west, 

while behind me in the east, the waxing moon rose 

 in the cool, blue sky. 

 I watch the moon glowing through the hemlocks 

as I write. Still no sign of the storm they say is coming, 

but my larder is stocked in case 

I'm house-bound tomorrow. 

Classes begin for me on Wednesday,

and another rhythm to my days.

The deepest of winter dreaming 

fades as the days grow slowly longer. 

With the slight lengthening of daylight, 

so, too, some shift in me. I feel a 

new inspiration, and look forward to 

seeing what stories emerge as 

I turn once again to my work.