Mood Indigo

Because I had been sitting all day and seemed a bit off, the babies lured me out on an evening walk. Since they haven't had school for almost three weeks, they have been doing that regularly, walking me like one would an old stiff dog. Denied my daily exercise regime by unrelenting ice and snow, I lose my go-go spark, and they help me get it back.

We were losing light steadily as we walked toward the cemetery. Chet checked for Demon, his pal he loves to bite, but opted not to snowfish through the white yard to see him.

He's wearing an old sweater that helps keep him from freezing solid. 

Anything you hold up high is fair game for a Boston terrier, even a giant snowplank. Gimme that!

The lazy curve of the haymeadow hill, painted violet by the dying sky.

Where the deer go up to check the neighbor's hopper feeder. 

At length we reached the cemetery, where two arbor vitaes, mortally damaged by the fire that burned the collapsing Methodist church down, still stand watch. They are taking their time dying, and I'm glad of it. Hawks and bluebirds, woodpeckers and titmice love to sit in their dead tops.

It was quite a wade for the small dog.

Anyone making a snow angel is in danger of being sat upon. Including Liam.

Your sister is a much more salubrious surface than 8" of snow.

Aided by wind, a little flag makes silent arcs in the snow. 

On the way home, I asked my iPhone to remember me this lonesome scene, and it obliged. I was pleased that it picked up the moon and a couple of planets as well.

We got home, I started to do last prep on dinner, and Bill came in. "Could you guys suit up and help me?" Our ice-packed driveway had had its way with the company van. It was both mired and high-centered just off the driveway. The whole family tried very hard to push, dig and pull the van out of the mire, but in the end only our dear neighbor Sherm and his tiny but powerful Kubota tractor could free it. By then it was 9:30 PM and we, famished, fed upon a thoroughly dessicated, nay, cremated chicken carcass that had been perfectly juicy and delicious at 7:30. An unexpected bonus that we discovered upon coming back in the house was that the van's tires had spun hot mud on me and Bill, from head to toe. Parka washing time.

Truly a winter to remember. Here is a photo of a large, unidentifed anthropoid ape smashing its way back from the compost pit through the dismal, pocked boilerplate masquerading as snow upon our smothered yard. It is not wearing pants because its wife made it take them off so she could throw them in the washer. 

The morning aftermath. That car was not going to go anywhere without a chain and a tractor. 

This winter has given us great beauty, very little school, and no small measure of privation. We are ready for it to pack up its weapons and go home. Scenes like this one notwithstanding. 

We walk to this place
where blue hills meet steely sky
The mood's indigo.
Before we get back
darkness will fall in the woods.
Snow lights our path home.