Snow blankets the front path to The Nuthatch on Tuesday.
IT DID SOME SERIOUS SNOWING on Center Island in the past 24 hours.
We’d had a light frosting now and then since the weekend, but Tuesday afternoon the mercury was frozen in the mid-20s and the slate-gray sky decided flurries were a bore. It opened up and snowed.
Last night, Barbara and I doused the lights in the cabin, switched on the outside lights above our wall of windows and watched “Snow Theater.”
By Wednesday morning nine inches blanketed the island.
The snowcap on our feeder Wednesday morning: Cold and hungry birds have depleted our stock of birdseed. Sorry, spotted towhees.
We’re living off the larder. Pulling on snow boots to tromp the buried roads. Tempted to build a snowman on the blank whiteboard that is our airfield.
Stay warm, stay safe. We’re hunkered happily.
by Wallace Stevens, 1921One must have a mind of winterTo regard the frost and the boughsOf the pine-trees crusted with snow;And have been cold a long timeTo behold the junipers shagged with ice,The spruces rough in the distant glitterOf the January sun; and not to thinkOf any misery in the sound of the wind,In the sound of a few leaves,Which is the sound of the landFull of the same windThat is blowing in the same bare placeFor the listener, who listens in the snow,And, nothing himself, beholdsNothing that is not there and the nothing that is.