210301 First thaw

Mar. 1

Last night, the moon just past full.

We will be calling this the first thaw. Water has been dripping all night: tonight it is going down to minus 17. Outside, the morning smells like Japan. (We arrived in Japan on March 4, 1983, the first day of our trip.) March 1st.: is today lamb or lion? Lamb I think. Melting, intermittent sun. Black clouds at midday have been chased off by fluffy whites. The wind picks up however and by tonight the lion will rule. We are in transition now. March and April will walk in rain boots and snowsuits towards the leafing of trees and the greening of gardens. A time to remember that journey is destination. A journey is walking and resting, going forward but seeing all that is around you now. The morning and the evening will show the distance you have come. The ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival) is simply that, estimated, not mandated, not conditional; the arrival is only a another stopping place on the journey for a day, or a decade. Rest, renewal and rebuilding are integral to the adventure.

Around noon, I visited Rain at the farm. Black clouds appeared in the south, threatening snow. Tal had a box of kindling for me. We are blessed to have such good friends near us.

Last night I went to bed early. I was tired; and once there, I felt discouragement like an extra blanket, too heavy on me. How is it, I wondered, that this negative mood can so eclipse my optimism, trust and joy in life. Although it was hard to believe, in the dark, I told myself that this cloudy patch was no more valid than the joy and positivity I usually feel. Sleep now, I said, and see what the morning brings. And here it is, though tenuous and fragile: hope, the knowledge that life will move forward as inexorably as the days and weeks.

Snow is blowing down the hill beside us now and the wind is sounding in the chimney. Today I have laundry to do and sweet potato and kale to prepare for dinner. I have a new masher, better for beans, so bean cakes are tonight's protein. Today I am resting, then, and letting be. Today's return of winter is perhaps my metaphor for rest, for keeping warm, pottering about. I will put the fire on.

Once again, orphaned at the edge of the world.

Late in the day, after the squalls,

the snow whirled ghosts past the witches.

As the sun set, a ray from the sun fell on the dragon's head across the valley.

Below: The valley is dark but the far hills are lit up warm in the last sun.

Today has felt like a synopsis of the month to come. The eaves continued to drip as a fierce wind blew gales of snow down the mountain; the clouds broke up and blue sky appeared; still the wind whistled and howled down the meadow. I have cast off the shroud of last night but now I am as groundless as the snow devils, as changeable as today's weather. I feel like I am starting all over again - but what it is that I am working on: vision, identity, the way ahead, I'm not certain.

Be well. Thank you for visiting.

Mumma Yaga

Yesterday, February 28.

Melting.