Walked to the graveyard this afternoon. Most of the angels were toppled from last week's crazy windstorm, some gusts up to 91 mph.
Every angel I could find, now restored to his or her proper guard post.

"All beginnings are small." -Carl Jung

Poem by William Dickey

Happiness
by William Dickey from
THE RAINBOW GROCERY

I sent you this bluebird of the name of Joe
with "Happiness" tattooed onto his left bicep.
(For a bluebird, he was a damn good size.)
And all you can say is you think your cat got him?

I tell you the messages aren't getting through.
The Golden Gate Bridge is up past its ass in traffic;
tankers colliding, singing telegrams on strike.
The machineries of the world are raised in anger.

So I am sending this snail of the name of Fred
in a small tricolor sash, so the cat will know him.
He will scrawl out "Happiness" in his own slow way.
I won't ever stop until the word gets to you.

Swan reported lingering in small area of open water near drain pipe on a frozen pond. Normally, at this time of year, the swans would be on the river. I went to investigate and then went back again the next morning. A friend and I pulled the swan to shore. Discovered a wound at least six inches deep in her side. She is now receiving the best of care up at the Center For Wildlife. I think of her every day.

Crow taking heart from candle flame. . .

Isthmus to Island

Under almost any other circumstance, there's an isthmus here. This high tide turned the dock to island. If it were my isthmus, I think I might have sequestered myself on the far part of the dock with good footwarmers, a thermos of tea and enjoying temporary island-hood. . .

Very high tide

Because of the second full moon at the end of December, yesterday's high tide was about as high as I've ever seen. For instance, one should be able to walk to this dock!

PS

In fact, the bird did fly away. Just resting. . .

Andy's poem for the new year

This is the poem I just received from my friend, Andrea LeBlanc. Wonderful poem for the new year!

1/1/10

On the first morning of a brand new year
Indeed a new decade
Standing outdoors in slippers and robe
A goldfinch sitting on my hand

Stunned (or content)
Safe from the chill of the snow
Where he fell
Heartbeats throbbing visibly
As minutes passed

Listening to the wingbeats of cardinals
Distinct amidst the flutter
Of birds busy
Before the coming storm

Grateful in the stillness
For the opportunity
To begin the year
With a kindness

LIVE IT UP!

First day of the new year, seems like a good time to revisit this picture. As a little kid, I was always ready for a racally good time. Starting when I was about four, I used to say to my grandmother, "Live it up, Becky, I do!" A very good motto for the new year.

Wishing everyone a truly happy new year!

Light snow in the afternoon. I went walking in the woods and found this heart for Clytie!

In May of this year, a game warden brought a 4 day old albino porcupine to the Center for Wildlife. Because she was sickly and needed lots of tending, she became quite used to humans and it was decided that she should remain at the Center as an "educational ambassador." This holiday card was done by Jeannie Brett.

I haven't had a Christmas tree for years, mainly because I'm too tired at the end of the semester. But this year, inspired by Edna, I got a beauty! See picture below. It's the kind of tree that e.e. cummings and Marilyn Monroe and Albert Einstein would have loved. Maybe do love. Look at those ghost lights glowing in the window. . .

The ghost of the Christmas tree looking in the window. . .

Twilight on this part of the river specializes in
blues pulled straight out of deep dream. . .

from The New Yorker July 1, 1939

I am still cleaning out the room was used to be the guest room and then became the junk room.
Nearly done! And when it's done, its official name will be The Room of the Blue Hedgehog in honor of a picture I found in there of, natch, a blue hedgehog, done by a friend's child when he was in the 4th grade. Yes, it seems to me that everyone needs a hedgehog room (especially if one has so many pets they can't really have a hedgehog. . .)

One of the joys of this clean-up is finding lost treasure. This appeared in the New Yorker in 1939.
I have always loved it. A psychology professor gave this to our class. A mother overheard her young child talking to himself and wrote this down, presumably from behind a door. I don't think the child knew anyone could hear him. Even as irked as he is, he does manage to add some hilarious little touches. He'll remember to put the lid on the garbage can! But even better, the panda, the marble. Oh, yes. And the noonday sun. . .

He will just do nothing at all,
He will just sit there in the noonday sun,
And when they speak to him, he will not answer him,
Because he does not care to.
He will stick them with spears and put them in the garbage.
When they tell him to eat his dinner, he will just laugh at them.
And he will not take his nap, because he does not care to.
He will not talk to them, he will not say nothing,
He will just sit there in the noonday sun.
He will go away and play with the panda.
He will not speak to nobody, because he doesn't have to.
And when they come to look for him, They will not find him,
Because he will not be there.
He will put spikes in their eyes and put them in the garbage,
And put the cover on.
He will not go out in the fresh air or eat his vegetables
Or make wee-wee for them, and he will get thin as a marble.
He will not do nothing at all.
He will just sit there in the noonday sun.

This is for my Moleskine project. . .

Snow crystals, fingerprints, kisses, each one different. . .

First snow early December

These were the last flowers to come from the garden. Just hours before, literally, these flowers were still growing outside. . .