Small Stones

The wind is more than blustery today. Each gust makes the trees look like bony fingers trying to fervently scrape the clouds from the sky. The flurry of snow left on the road is slithering, snake-like around the tarmac. It even blew my béret off my head, and blew it through the air Mary-Tyler-Moore-style.
I am not fond of the chaos this despicable wind brings. You can blow away any time, Mr. Wind.


Winter cringes as Light gains ground.

The water rushes over the dam, creating a foggy mist as the water crashes onto the rocks below. Because of the cold temperatures, this hazy spray covers the trees on the nearby bank and then freezes, leaving the trees completely white, encased in an icy glaze. The trees which are not in the path of the mist are untouched, which makes the whiteness of the frozen trees even more striking. I hate winter, but there is something elegant and beautiful in this scene of ice, cold and desolation.

All night the wind howled at my walls, angered that I would even attempt to keep him out. Over and over he crashed into my small abode, like a battering ram, to prove how flimsy my walls really were. Again and again he bellowed at my window, telling me to let him in. Maybe he’s just cold; maybe he wants someone to talk to…I tried to reason with myself, But I was frightened at his howling anger and violence. So, I ran away, hoping to find safety and refuge. Instead, he followed me, and screamed my name with even more frenzy. All night the wind howled at my walls. All night his anger affrighted me.

ImageOne lone leaf blew, tumbleweed-style, across the frozen desert of the back yard. It tumbled to and fro, back and forth, at the whim of the blustery breeze, until its progress was finally checked by an accommodating bush. The leaf’s wanderings were at an end. I am like that leaf; I wander here and there, unsure of where the winds of time will take me next. But one day, I too will stop my wanderings. And I will be at peace.

After about a week of sublimely springlike temperatures and sunny skies, the weather took a turn today. The clouds hung low in the air, almost as if the earth was trying to hide its head under blankets from the inevitable wrath of Old Man Winter. The clouds closed in, as cold flakes of white spun through the air, attempting to find the culprit which last week stole Winter’s thunder. But as the blankets of clouds keep their stifled grip upon us all, the Winter has taken its place of prominence. But not for long…at least that is my hope, as I not-so-patiently await the first signs of Spring.

ImageIt’s the smell that gets me first. That earthy, dark smell, wafting through the kitchen as I make breakfast. Brew faster!! My patience is waning. How I long for that first taste, that first cup. To have that roasted bit of amazingness, which must be heaven sent, first hit my taste buds! If only I couldn’t smell it! I’m quivering with anticipation…why does it take so long?

My husband wants to know why the coffeepot stopped brewing at 10 cups. I just smile, as my fingers curl around my warm cup.

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