braver than I

through cedar hedge the setting sun sprays

yellow beams that scatter upon snow

dry, cold and bitter this day

while birds peck and dig for substance

wearing only their skin and feathers

that causes me to ponder

how they withstand this temperature

while the flesh of this mere mortal

freezes leaving skin blue

not the blue of water or a summer sky

but a transparent blue with veins

pulsating in disagreement

of my foolishness being outside

filling the feeder to provide

nourishment for those

who can't provide for themselves

yet complaints there are none

from this soul as I hear

only the soft thank yous of

gratitude emitting from the hedge

sung by chilled creatures

braver

than

I

Glow - Haiku

only -22 you say, well isn't that balmy

Sunday graced us with hours of freezing rain. At least it was on 6” of snow that buffered it from the ground. Me thinks everyone listened to the same forecast of flash freeze and doors opened with neighbours rushing out to clear their drives. I went out twice and was thoroughly soaked each time but it had to be done as the ever loved snow plow operator had already passed. TWICE. My shoulders ached as if I had shovelled a ton of coal. I was not a happy camper seeing three, ahem, “neighbours” out with their snow blowers and not one yelling over the drone “Yo! Cheryl, I'll be right over”.   Women never forget. 

Nursing the soreness and drying clothes I was preparing me self for another go to shovel the bloody bank when what to me ears did I hear but me savour! Dear Dale, a kind man who had just put in a third 12 hour shift arriving with his blower. 10 minutes and it was cleared. I ran out with gift in hand shouting “I LOVE YOU” and he awww shucks apologized for not coming early. Geeez, I hadn't expected him at all knowing his schedule. The best long distance neighbour I've ever had.

The week became worser. -40C temperature on Wednesday made everything freeze solid. My house was banging all night, the house people. The Butternut tree was equally showing its disdain for the cold slamming its overhanging limb on the pergola. For years one limb has rested on two beams. It has become a measure of weather. I know when the winds are wicked because the limb rubs and squeak. Visitors are told it's just talking so talk back. Mind you there are always a few eyebrows raised when I say that.

Another sign of cold is the train whistle. I live not far from the freight line that bisects this town and like most citizens who have lived here for what seems eons never hear it. Until the temperature lowers to an unbearable level unfit for man or beast to be oot and aboot. When I actually notice it in my home I know it is cold, damn cold. That means it's so cold it's time to don, gasp, socks and slippers and throw an extra blankie on the bed AND the window remains closed.

I won't write about the layers of clothes.  Ok I shall.  Socks, boots, pants (in no way do I wear a dress in this weather), sweater, parka, scarf, mitts (gloves are not advised because fingers keep warmer touching each other), and perhaps a hat.  Mind you the hat leads to dreadful hat hair due to the static electricity and it is so unbecoming that I prefer a hooded parka.  One must endeavour to remain fashionable, in a way, doncha know.  And that's just for outside.  I won't mention what we need to wear working in a 100 year old building with no insulation, except the alpaca mitts make rather funny typo's in emails.    

Today we joked about the temperature and in true Canadian style stated you know you're Canadian when you remark “only -22 you say, well isn't that balmy”.

To the Full Wolf Moon

The moon beckons to follow

over the marsh where water

has become ice, solid for fleeting

feet running through the rushes

holding once rampant waters still

for creatures to find their grasp

while they continue the hunt

of rabbits and fox that prowl

the night in the glow of the moon.

I weary of this chase, feet are raw

bleeding from the shards of ice

leaving prints in the snow to be

scented from my pursuer who will

soon be upon the limping formations.

There are outlines of trees ahead,

old maples and oak branches that

have become fuel for the pioneers fire

where they keep their hearth warm

and cook their food to provide heat

for their cabins in this bitter winter

and after this long and tiring chase

I will give my own fur only to feel

once more the heat and a hearty

welcome to join the clan once more. 

Winter Haiku

alabaster marble

under a blanket of snow,

the final resting

filaments of flakes

form cords of frozen crystals,

shimmers in street lights

hedge with snow laden

branches, sags under the weight,

home to resting doves

dried hydrangea heads

wear their winter tuques of white,

tassels of new flakes

full Wolf Moons halo

calls to me through closed shutters,

I become restless

cardinal of red

silhouetted in feeder,

twilights sepia

one foot of white shite

and counting this frigid night,

drapes drawn til morn light   ;)