winter haiku #2 2014

sun-bleached cityscape / clarion noontide snowmelt / razoring shadows

snowMarch

blindwhite particulate crystalline settling aftermath do the numbers
paths buried cars hidden ground missing depth guessing wonders
chunk block rock tock tick smack snow snew sown strown
alabaster albino vanilla creamy lumen beachtide flake wake

Nowhereland, just north of Somewhere

Steps in Syracuse snowswept

Say it slower now

(Why the freezing weeping?)

Twin tracks tundra

Bridged rusted aborted

West Fayette Street spanned spun spawned

To what end

Nowhere

Somewhere

Over there by Fowler

No trains a-comin'

No whistle blowin'

In the wind or sun or rain

Unless you listen

Have you seen it lived it

Off the map off the grid

Derailed

snow

I sheepishly declare I already miss those blankets of albino secrets, the snowy terrain of silvery silence, muffling the ruffling of earthly murmurings. Snow what? I miss you.

I miss you like that vacant hour we were forced to surrender at 2 a.m., like it or not, with some vague promise of getting it back this fall. I miss that hour. I hardly knew ye, EST. And now DSY comes barging in here, al naked and primal, all quasi-equinox and all, all artificial-like. Poseur.

a day in the life

All times are EST and are approximate, not correlated with NIST or the atomic clock.

0633  daughter yells, "no school again, Dad!"

0633.005  semiconscious, I mumble: "So cool, iPad, hunh?!"

0839  dog barking furiously; "it's just Mom coming home from work," I mumble; it's not, I realize after hearing the doorbell ring

0840  kid with shovel asking if I want any shoveling done; "no, thanks" I say as a sleepwalker; if I were more alert I'd have made the investment; we often made money doing that as kids, up in the wealthier parts of Stamford, nto Old Greenwich

0852  breakfast; two Thomas' Toast-R-Cakes, tea with milk

0907  begin clearing porch stairs and our sidewalk and Brenda's; realize I must clear a spot for Beth

0907.01  realize this wet snow is as heavy as just-poured Quikrete

0907.02 to 0945  dig snow in street clearing space for a Honda civic; we are a one-way street; driveways are a luxury on Tipp hill

0947  Beth pulls in to the quasi-cleared spot, not far, but legal, from hydrant

0948 to 1119  with daughter's help we free or moored car and straighten it out; help Jack From Across the Street clear his white Chevy; look down the hill and see cadres of people shoveling all over or snowblowing (I don't like snowblowers); clear area around red hydrant; Ukrainian-Americans across the street yell at each other about snow removal

1129  call mom back home; suns comes out; snowing in CT; sun comes out there; during call my vision gets blurry, like the ocular migraine i had around 1998

1141 toast and tea; still fuzzy vision

1147  hard to read words while typing some emails; feel perfectly fine otherwise; still, a tad scary

1149 to 1229  lie down; can't sleep; disturb Beth as she tries to sleep

1230  wake up; vision seems fine; relieved

1249  eat leftovers from last night's supper: delicious galupki, roasted potatoes, grilled, sauteed beans and peppers

1257  drive ABK to reservoir up by Geddes Street; sun blazing; melting; from Bellevue Heights Church driveway, she climbs over snowbank, takes along trek uphill; meets friends; tussles with boy(s); watching, I am joyed and grateful

1313  actually I think I ate lunch around now

1314 to 1420  prepare invoices

1500 to 1531  call to DC, discuss June quality conference with EPA person; very good call

1547  prepare invoices to be mailed

1609  drive to Wegmans; envelopes

1710 to 1750  nap

1853  to 1924  dinner at The Black Olive

1944 to 1959  walk dog

2018  browse the Flapper blog

2118 to 2131  blog

No paychecks, no pierogi, no porn. That's my day so far.

snow what

Walking yesterday on partially melted snow, I wondered: does it cover or expose? Sure, you'd think it covers. It does. Snow blankets. It covers sounds, dogshit, cigarette wrappers, broken bottles, last year's leaves, yesterday's sins. Snow covers the sleeping buds of spring under the sleeping ground, glosses over the fluvian layers of preceding snow, pushes down the crocuses a few more weeks (maybe) or rudely freezes them if they pop up for a look. But snow also presents its vulnerability blatantly, exposing itself for all to see, its granules and icy detritus spattered by myriad brands of cat and dog and whatnot urine. Snow, the dichotomy -- coming to a landscape near you. Or staying. Hello, I must be going. Bye.

'God's No Puritan'

In a comment to my previous post, Dafath wrote,

"God, you know, was no Puritan."

Presumably, Dafath would be willing to recast that sentence into the present tense or future tense. By Puritan I assume he's referring to the legalistic, "pure," and precise "godliness" of those in the 1560s and beyond who claimed a pure and unadulterated holiness. (I don't want to engage in theological debate, but I will say that despite its flaws, Wikipedia is enlightening, entertaining, and exhaustive [note serial comma] in its entry for this word.)

Today I witnessed natural evidence of the "God is no Puritan" view.

Snowmelt.

With temperatures reaching into the sixties (Fahrenheit), Old Man Winter shed a ragged coat of snow, leaving torn and tattered shreds of dirt-speckled icemelt. Sidewalks arose like volcanic islands out between snowbanks. Yesterday we had maybe 18 inches of snow in most places; it's down to 8 to 10 inches in most spots today. It's an untidy mess, it is. Snow pockmarked with decaying dogshit, candy wrappers, lost newspapers never delivered, branches, last fall's dead leaves. Gone is the pristine blanket that quiets the night and day equally (of merely days ago!). Where does this dirt like pepper mixed into a bowl of salt come from? It looks as if it's been raining detritus, dust, and black dandruff against the formerly alabaster melting surface. Mud percolates under it all awaiting our shoes (and dog's paws) to track into the house.

But wait.

The forecast is for rain in the next few days.

The tainted snow needs a good washing . . .

. . . in advance of the snow predicted for this weekend.

As Soren Kierkegaard might say,

Either/Or.

Either snow or rain, either winter or spring, but both and all?!