220421 snow and upheaval

 April 21

This happened Sunday morning. (It happened last year, one morning.)

Sunday at three pm, from the top of the meadow.

At four-thirty.

At five pm.

At seven pm.

*****

Today, Thursday, was only the second time I have left Rocky with K. The first time was only for an hour and he whined on and off, Rocky that is. Today was a longer trip, to take Rain to the vet; one of their dogs hurt its paw. I didn't know how to write that sentence without implying that it was Rain who was going to "see" the vet. K says that today, Rocky was relaxed and slept most of the time, while I was gone. I was pleased to see that upon my return he was calm and matter-of-fact, no hysterics or tears of abandonment. (Rocky, that is.)

*****

Has anyone else experienced an upheaval in the last ten days? Our little circle, namely ourselves, Rain, Tal and the baby, has been through an Upheaval, upper-case, as if somehow there was a crack or a quake in the universe. Thursday last, it rained and rained and the mountain poured with water and then the weather seemed to be running tests as it switched between sun and rain every few minutes all day, and then came Good Friday. That was a strange and spiritual day for me, to think about that day on that hill, his friends and family there, the soldiers and onlookers, although I am not a "practicing" christian. It was definitely a day in the Upheaval, felt all tilted and drafts. 

Then on Saturday we lost someone. It was a sad blow. Then K and I were to travel to Toronto on Monday, so I was packing and planning. We have to get the tires on the car changed and I was going to see the doctor same time.  On Sunday, there came the news of a covid contact at the Etobicoke home, where we were going to stay. It was a challenge to mentally process, but we could see that we'd have to postpone our trip for ten days, while the family there waits out the incubation period. We are also concerned about the covid-positive contact person, hoping that they will recover soon and completely. Of course there has been a huge slurry of infection among all our acquaintances; I am sure everyone is seeing a similar thing. 

Sunday and Monday then, passed in heavy sadness and waiting and processing. Rain and Tal were under the clouds too. I was with Rain on Saturday, but haven't seen her again until today. On Tuesday it snowed, and on Wednesday, and blew a blizzard, wet and heavy. We went nowhere, but only walked. Every day Rock and I walk; the last couple of days K came too. The forest was deep in snow again. Wednesday, of course was a last straw, a damaged paw.

        

Snow devils blew across the meadow, and clouds across the sky.

Late Wednesday saw some blue.

Earlier in April was the second anniversary of my mother-in-law's death. That was at the beginning of the plague, when everything was in turmoil. This week was her birthday. The war is on everyone's mind, too. It goes on, the days count on, one by one. It feels mindless and huge. What do you do with a bully who takes what is not his to take?

It has been a strange time. Today, with the paw seen to, and a safe return home, with groceries, (all of it with baby in tow) felt more settled, the day calm and dry for our drive, but the wind is picking up and howling about the house, while rain hangs from the sky. That may explain Rocky's sudden clinging. I was wondering what was bugging him. We have been on two walks up the meadows since I came home, (we had our morning walk before I left), so he should be settled.      

                                                                                                                         

Pathetic fallacy has always been an enchanting literary device to me. Although we do not "live by" the weather, not being farmers or ancient hunter-gatherers, it still impresses itself on us, our moods, our small daily routines. I think perhaps the Upheaval is still in process. What wind is blowing? What storm? We have not set a new departure date for the Toronto trip.

April 22

It is the next morning. Rocky and I have done our walk: to the first turn, back to the cow pond and then I wanted to follow the ridge stream down. I am obsessed by the stream, as I am by all the waters that pour down the hills. (Have you noticed?) It is a living thing, following its path, (or destiny) to ground, to the lowest, most stable, level. To the sea. Well, to the Missisquoi River, to Lake Champlain.  (The indigenous peoples called them by other names, though "Missisquoi" seems to be derived, corrupted, from an older name. Champlain is, of course, the name of an "explorer"; should read invader. I do not know what they teach for history in Canadian schools any more.) There is such a childish brightness to its hurried pace, the stream, the hundred little falls and steps it runs down, among the tree roots, fallen branches, and stones.

In the lower meadow there is a copse of thorns, and there are small grassy places and several giant stones to rest upon. I like to think that witches sometimes meet there.

Keep well. 

Mumma Yaga

"It's been so long you've been wanting a cabin and a backwoods trail" - Ferron, 1980

As I sit at work, I look south to the far away mountains, it is always the same view, but it is different every hour, the way the sun is, how the clouds march like legions across the wide sky and drift into the valleys.