Can you believe the way the snow crept up my window? Photo taken this a.m.
The thing about storms and hunkering is that regular hours can be thrown for a loop. I couldn't sleep last night, the howling of the wind and those odd creaky things in an old house that come blaringly to life in a storm has thrown my night into day, day into night.
The 3.00 a.m. horror show also appeared - you know how that goes, don't you? Every thought you've had since you were two comes to life. First day of school is there, then a brand new film for me: beloved grandfather dying, mama weeping for what seemed like months afterwards. And no, you can't go to the funeral, we want you to remember him the way he was which always led me to the belief it was a huge big scam and Granddad had run off somewhere never to be seen again. So that film played for a couple of hours inevitably leading to the deaths of other beloveds and maybe it was my turn tonight, and the what about the dog? thought, this time left with my corpse? Would she howl? Eat me? Great, enough of that now.
I could go on and on about the stark raving horrors of the three ayems. I wrote a poem about it one time. And I salute the almighty power of the search engine for locating it:
In the three ayem darkness
To a mind run amok.
In the afternoon rainstorm
To depression unstuck.
In the loan of a shoulder,
To the lean of a hold,
In the ear of attention
To the warmth from the cold.
In the years gone behind us,
To the old you and me,
In the comfort we offer
To the days yet to be.
Written in 2002. I was young then. Well, old then. Well, much older now. In that way of passing sixty at high speed.
It is still windy out and drizzling. Cabin fever hasn't set in yet. I truly love being isolated in times such as these.
It sets the mind to dreaming without interruption.