There
was a glimmer of hope on Imbolc. The temperature went above freezing
for what seemed like the first time in ages. Small blurts of grass were
visible. Watching the sky that morning, I spied a vaguely crescent-shaped cloud
making its way across the freshly washed heavens and it inspired me to
write this "Death Song for Winter".
The rains came down
The mists went up
And Winter went away.
A peaceful passing,
Carried off on carols
Of wren and robin
No more suffering.
Scars of dirty snow erased,
To rise in rainbows
From her face.
No lament,
No regrets,
Just the luminous promise
Of Spring
And that last arched eyebrow
Fading in eggshell sky.
It didn't last long. The few inches of snow that came afterwards are now preserved under a thick layer of ice that is both treacherous and stubborn. After yesterday's fall while trying to avoid a stray dog by cutting across the soccer fields that are now more like a skating rink, I don't even dare to walk Johnny in the park. The backyard will have to do. Both of us are going stir-crazy here.
Johnny is a high energy dog. It's the Border Collie in him. He always has to have something to do, the more lively and interesting the better. His Lab side shines in his appearance only, in his glossy black coat and bright eyes, not in any laid-back temperament. When I finally got the backyard fenced in late last summer, I thought it would give me a break from marching up to the park with him three times a day. Well, now we only have to go to the park once a day - normally. Being iced-in, his yard excursions have dwindled to skittery two-minute trips to the far end where he does his business, then my high energy dog flops down in the snow and lays there, blissfully licking the ice. He could do that forever. He can't run on the ice. So we have to walk up to the park.
Yesterday the ice was horrible but we went out anyway. He was driving me nuts, dropping his Kong Ball on my foot every two minutes, (ouch) throwing his toys at me, even trying to engage the poor ancient cat in doggy games. So out we went. I had no intentions of going into the park, just briskly walking around it, still a good half-mile stroll with lots of scenery and scents for canine entertainment. We'd gone as far as we could go, all the way to the dead end, past the spot where there was a roadkill deer the day before, now removed but apparently leaving its blood-smell behind, past the K-9 training center, past the turn-off onto the path that is a secret back way into the park. Turning around, I spotted a large black dog coming down the road by itself, no leash or human in sight. Naturally it stopped where the deer had been. I prefer to avoid strange, loose dogs especially when they're bigger and bulkier than Johnny. There was nowhere to go to avoid this one except to cut through the park and across the soccer fields.
I quickly discovered that the soccer fields were now an ice rink.I held onto Johnny's leash and let him pull me across the ice. I didn't even have to lift my feet. I was swiftly gliding along with no effort at all. This was good! Until he suddenly sensed the other dog, turned around and started pulling me backwards towards the road. The other dog noticed us and lifted its head, but stayed put. I struggled to control Johnny. Inevitably my feet went out from under me, I sailed up in the air and came down flat on my back, breath knocked out of me. Then I couldn't get up because I kept slipping. My canine companion was no help at all, he was still intent on maintaining his territorial rights on the roadkill traces. Somehow I got up and dragged Johnny across the field, stomping my way through the ice. The only safe way to go was to high-step it, smashing a ragged footprint into the ice with every stride. The stray dog went over the hill. We were home free. Now I have a monster bruise on my back and the sciatica demons are having a party all the way down to my toes.
So finally I get around to writing something in my blog!
The groundhog's prediction this year was of special interest. Not because it was a weather omen. It's always six more weeks of this or that, because there are six weeks until Spring Equinox. This year it was a declaration that in six more weeks I will get to meet my great-granddaughter, Leilani Mae, as she is predicted to make her entrance into our world just in time for Spring.
Will she be an Aries like her daddy or a Pisces, in harmony with her mother's moon-sign? Will she be pale or dark, red-haired or brunette? I hope she'll have her father's eyes, sky-blue, but genetics weigh in heavier for dark brown. Of course we'll all love her, no matter what she looks like.
