210205 snowstorms, witches and a new day

 Feb. 5

This morning I woke to a pink sky.  
     

                 This was the view north through the trees above the house.

   

Tuesday we had a most excellent snowfall. On the left are the witches in the storm, and on the right, the hen house. It snowed all day and into the night. 

Wednesday was warmer and before the snow started again Fig and I went for a walk down to the farm, our next neighbours down the hill. (We have one neighbour above us on the road - the family that Blackie lives with.) It was our first walk in a while, because Fig can't manage if it's colder than minus 10. I put him on leash and we set off. He seemed excited and ran along beside me down the road. After a while I let him off the lead and he seemed to sense where the road was and barely ran into the snowbanks at all. He enjoyed smelling along the road and you wouldn't know he couldn't see! It was reassuring to see him so happy. 

 The farm's old barn, and the woodpile, like fruitcake with icing!

On Thursday, K came with us on our walk and we went past the farm along to the post boxes on the road to town. The fields of snow were undisturbed all the way to the tree line: their sheer white expanse was like something from a dream, so surreal the rises and contours of the land rounded and smooth with the blanket of snow. The road itself was white because they don't use salt and seldom sand on the smaller roads. As we turned back towards the snow-covered outbuildings of the farm on the corner and the sun at our backs cast our shadows blue along the road I found that I had dropped all the past and future ideas and I was aware only of the beauty of hill and tree, the joy of walking - there was nothing else to do or think about.

    

It is easy to get caught in the nets of worry about the future: our small future - when can we safely make a run to Toronto, and what will the end of our six months here bring; and the world's future: the new covid variants, the continuing pandemic, and beyond that, our need for a sea-change in the way the world is, to bring humanity out of the broken system that oppresses the poor and the disadvantaged. I was getting tangled up in negative thoughts about myself, too: finding things to criticize and berate myself about.  Later, as I prepared dinner, I purposefully shook off all the things that had been beating me up over the past few days and admonished myself to enjoy the days now, each as it comes, stop waiting for an uncertain future, be Mumma Yaga now, here. I cannot fix my problems any faster by trying to grasp the future, I can only do today's work, and let myself enjoy each lovely minute I am given. All those nets and timelines make it so hard to see what goodness and happiness I have in my hands now. I laughed aloud at the relief I felt.

I returned to my loft last night; it felt homey and welcoming again. K didn't seem so far away. I slept well, with Fig curled up at my feet. I woke to see daylight and a pink sky. Stepping out on the balcony I saw that the snow too was pink from the rising sun. My heart has been light today: doing a small grocery run to town felt easy as can be, not the arduous task it sometimes is. I had lost my happiness and now it was found.

The clouds returned at noon; someone shook the snow-globe again and the world shrank once more, shrouded in snow beyond our circle of trees. Now as the sun is setting it has cleared and the southeastern sky is pink again.

Now I have to prepare tonight's dinner. 

Thanks for dropping in. Be well.

Mumma Yaga