one evening, while washing dishes, i looked out the window. the setting sun, illuminating the hills across the street, brushed soft light across tapered evergreens. i had never noticed the light falling in exactly that way, so intentionally in that little patch of trees. i stared while the water rushed over my hands. the moment … Continue reading light play (and chocolate biscotti)
nights come early now, darkness settling in even before we sit down to dinner. the snow melts; the last aspen leaves rattle and flutter away with passing winds; snow falls again. daylight appears as in a watercolor, pellucid, devoid of color. ropy clouds drape across a pale blue sky. how we mark these days. the … Continue reading shorter days (and smoky chipotle sweet potato soup)
i’ve heard it said that winter is never far away in the north country. you can feel its presence just beyond the mountain; hovering, biding its time. it’s time. this past week, three snowstorms worthy of january: the first, heavy wet flakes just right for building a snowman; the second, cold and powdery; the third, … Continue reading times like these (and chai-spiced almond butter)
and just like that, two more seasons have come and gone. the sweet summer, sunlit and green; the fall, golden and resplendent. the mornings of late: darker now as we spin away from the sun, darker now for the clouds of grey mist suspended low in a heavy sky. as the curtains rise, they reveal … Continue reading shades of silver (and sweet potato chocolate chip muffins)
the morning dawns under cover, accompanied by a steady drumbeat of rain. a low ceiling, not quite grey and not quite white. throughout the day this curtain rises and falls, its feathered hem revealing glimpses of the mountains beyond. raindrops drip off leaves and eaves, steady; an invitation to meditation. while i long, on the … Continue reading rhubarb in the rain
the neighbor mows his lawn and the air smells sweet; later, spicy as rain releases the balm of creekside cottonwoods. thunder rumbles low, a child’s laughter peals. we dance to silly songs and play outside with rocks and sticks. the sun feels hot on my arms for the first time this season. backlit illumination on … Continue reading spring things, little things (and cacao cinnamon cashew bites)
Winter rain, now tell me why, Summers fade, and roses die.The answer came; the wind and rain.Golden hills, now veiled in grey, Summer leaves have blown awayNow what remains? The wind and rain. — Weather Report Suite, The Grateful Dead I’ve felt this before. The disorientation, the tumbling, not knowing which way is up. The … Continue reading weather report (and cheater chana masala)
waking up this sunday morning; a sunday morning, in some ways, like every one that has come before. outside a silver disc of sun presses through steely clouds; fine-grained snow pelts the trees standing tall in the 2-degree air. and yet. for those generations of humankind walking the earth today, this sunday morning has no … Continue reading grinding to a halt
the last days of february bring with them an ennui, a longing. a yen for color and life and warmth. elsewhere in the country, signs of spring begin to emerge: green shoots, buds swelling on trees, perhaps even a flower. as another snow squall descends, blotting out the world, one line from robert service loops … Continue reading holding pattern (and raspberry vanilla granola)
driving over ice-glazed roads under a sky quilted white, seams stitched with blue. contemplating the state of the world, which, perhaps, isn’t the way to start the week off right. instead, back home, i focus on the criss-cross maze of deer tracks etched across the snow. last night i was awakened by the resounding clang … Continue reading still (and oat & almond pancakes)
