A night, and a day, and a night of cold pouring rain, and then today: almost warm, with washed blue skies, sugar maples still bright yellow, ripe pumpkins, and apples with stories to tell. It was a beautiful day.
Still here, with a hill behind the house that will give you things like this if you'll only climb it.
A story from the town at the bottom of the hill: So it's 7:00 Sunday morning, and 10 (yes, 10), who is dressing for the first hockey practice of the season, reaches into the huge bag at his feet and pulls out a glove at least one size too small, with a hole in the palm and marked with someone else's name. Thankfully, it's the third glove in the bag, and most likely landed in there during last week's tryouts. Glove's owner is not on 10's team. What next?
Check the rosters, find owner's team, realize have that team's coach's cell phone number is on my speed dial because his daughter is one of 12's best friends. Call. Leave message. Get email. Glove's owner lives an hour away on top of a mountain. Right.
Monday afternoon, see friend's mother parked at school pick up directly across the road. She steps out of her van, I step out of mine, and meeting most of the way across, I toss, and she catches, the wayward glove, now one step closer to the boy it belongs to.
Bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis) is a spring ephemeral, a woodland perennial that emerges, blooms, sets seed, and gathers the energy to return the next year, all before the leaves of the deciduous trees above it come out to take their turn in the sun. And bloodroot's flowers are ephemeral in the ordinary sense, too, barely lingering a day or two, shattering once their work of luring a pollinator is done.
The sun came out for a while today, the first time in a week of grey, and so did this:
So I'm out in front of the house, on my knees in the near-mud, leaning way in to shoot the crocuses and snowdrops that are finally, finally blooming—and a neighbor who's running by stops and asks what I'm doing.
In retreat: the snow, a bit (thanks to the January thaw, which arrived late this year), but not for long. Me, too briefly, with a group of knitters, last weekend. Hockey season: two weeks to go (surprisingly bittersweet, that). Basketball season.
Advancing: soccer season (arriving in March). High School for 13 (next fall, but placement tests and parent orientation last week. Not. Possible.). Knitting: a handful of small, sports-sidelines projects, all inspired (in color, or pattern) by this: