November 22: Number fun

I just like the symmetry of today's date: 11.22.11. Not only is it a palindrome, but it also looks cool. Today is the birthday of an old friend from high school who was born 11.22.66. That's a funky set of numbers in itself, but she's been waiting 45 years for the perfect alignment of today's date. And then it will have passed until the next century...

Two twos walled by ones:
auspicious, aesthetic date.
A lucky birthday?

November 21: Winter is coming

My husband and I are reading George R. R. Martin's "A Song of Ice and Fire" fantasy series, of which there are now five books of an anticipated seven (or more). The first book is "A Game of Thrones," which is the title of a recently launched HBO series that we've enjoyed almost as much as the books. The central protagonist in "A Game of Thrones" is Eddard Stark, the fair-minded, strong Lord of the North in his castle Winterfell.

In the world Martin has created, the seasons follow an unpredictable pattern, with summer often lasting for years until suddenly all is plunged for an indeterminate time into deep winter. In Eddard's Northern lands, as in New England, the climate is naturally colder than the South, and wild creatures stalk dark forests. One detail I appreciate is that Winterfell would be a freezing pile of rocks if it weren't for the fact that it's heated by geothermal energy and surrounded by hot springs. As long as one can take a regular hot bath, things can't be that bad.

Each of the aristocratic families in this society has both a sigil and a motto by which they are identified and characterized. The Stark family sigil is the dire wolf, a creature which ends up playing a key role in the lives of Eddard's children. The family motto is "Winter is coming," a rather somber reminder that no matter how good things seem, the reckoning of winter could always be right around the corner. That phrase came to mind today when I stepped outside and felt instantly chilled to the bone. I'm not ready for winter yet, Eddard Stark. But ready or not, winter is coming.

Winter is coming.
Chickadees cache seeds. They know.
And leaves, they shiver.

November 20: White Mountains

Drove home to Maine today via scenic Route 2, which winds across northern Vermont and New Hampshire. One of the highlights of the trip is traveling above the Mount Washington valley with breathtaking views across shorn farm fields to a full profile of the Presidentials. Although the sky was gloomy with clouds, the peaks were in full view. As I watched crows gleaning in a field, I wondered what they thought about a part of the landscape that was probably higher than they would willingly fly.

Mount Washington's peak
revealed, conversing with clouds.
Crows lie low below.

November 19: Popovers

A chilly breeze blew through the parking lot when we left our hotel for breakfast... And was that a dusting of snow on Mount Mansfield? Lake Champlain, framed by the rugged ridge line of the Adirondacks beyond, was iron gray, deep and cold, its surface ruffled by the raw wind. As, shivering, I admired the view, I was reminded of my college years--the long months of walking around campus freezing yet loving the views of the Adirondacks and the Green Mountains. There's something about Vermont topography that clings to the soul despite the harshness of the elements. (Yes, harsher than Maine--at least the Maine coast, where I'm from.)

The edge was quickly taken off our morning chill when we stepped into Cafe, a favorite spot. Hot green tea with honey, oatmeal, scrambled eggs, bacon, and fresh-baked popovers with butter and jam--along with the company of old, dear friends--started the day off on just the right level of warmth.

Cold-morning breakfast:
Popover, strawberry jam,
and tea, shared with friends.

November 18: Crafts Show

Every year at this time I come to Burlington, Vermont to work at a friend's booth at Craft Vermont, the annual show for the Vermont Handcrafters. Because it's a juried show, the quality of the work is high, and because it's Vermont--as with crafts in the crafty state of Maine--it's also diverse. The booth of the glass artist I work for is near booths of a guy who makes drums out of moose and elk hide, and beautiful flutes and didgeridoos out of wood; a woman wearing shoes worthy of Lady Gaga who makes elaborate, sculptural necklaces; a minimalist landscape photographer; a quilter; a carver of hand-painted bird ornaments and decoys; a sugar house selling maple syrup and maple sugar in various forms; and a print artist who also makes jewelry--colorful, miniature landscapes on pins and earrings. It's inspiring being surrounded by all the products of so many people's creativity, even though working the show till 8pm is also a bit exhausting--thus rendering my own poetic creativity near mute for the day.

How satisfying
to stand here and pound this drum.
Boom boom. So calming.

November 17: Drive to Vermont

Long drive from Maine to Vermont this afternoon. On I93 just outside Manchester, nearing dusk, a flying flock of birds caught my eye. Crows. A lot of them. As I sped past I looked over as best I could and realized the trees were full of them too: a large group roost right next to the highway.

Hour three of driving.
What's that? Roosting flock of crows.
Wow! Hundreds of them!

And then a bit later:

Dark, empty highway.
After five hours, almost there.
Oops! Going 90.

November 16: Peeping Jay

This morning before work I was at my desk when a shadow crossed the window. I looked up to see a blue jay perched on the gutter right outside, seeming to look in at me with those bright eyes as if making sure I was being productive. I could see other jays moving through the trees beyond--the neighborhood flock was clearly on morning patrol.

Humans seem predisposed to ascribe meaning to such experiences. For most of us, a close encounter with any form of wildlife is a notable moment these days, almost a visitation. And that's how I felt today, even though I see those jays all the time. One jay paused and appeared to notice me, to check up on me. I felt singled out. Lucky.

Blue jay checks me out,
leaves. To her I am nothing.
But she marks my day.

November 15: Owls out there

It's a bit early in the season, but already observers are reporting snowy owls. A friend saw two on Seal Island in Penobscot Bay recently. Birders on the Maine birding list-serv have seen them in Wells, Biddeford Pool, and other southern Maine coastal spots. There are currently two hanging out near Duxbury, MA. These multiple sightings are not typical, even in winter. So what's bringing the owls to the beach? Is Maine the Riviera for this Arctic breeder?

The cause of this owl influx is lemmings, the rodents that are a snowy owl's favorite prey on its breeding grounds. When there's an abundance of lemmings, nest success rate is higher. More owls. Come winter, when resources are more limited, owls disperse widely, with younger birds typically having to fly farther afield. They head for habitats similar to the open tundra, like dunes and bare-rock islands. Most of the birds we see here in Maine are these younger birds, recognizable by the more extensive dark patterning on the white feathers. The whiter the owl, the older it is.

I'm excited that this is looking to be a snowy owl boom year here in Maine, because odds are good that one could show up on Beech Hill. They've been seen on the blueberry barrens in the past, and I've always wanted to see one there. One of my co-workers won't be happy till he sees one perched on the sod roof of the stone hut atop the hill. But I'll take just seeing one in the fields. White owls are not just rare around here, they're really cool--almost mystically beautiful--one of those birds I always want to see. Check out these photographs and you'll understand.

Rare owl visitor--
white wings over open fields.
I long to see one.

November 14: Flying Leaves

A gust of (uncharacteristically warm) wind blew through the trees, releasing a burst of brown leaves that flew into the air like a small flock of sparrows. At first glance, I thought they were birds, until they began to drift and swirl slowly, weightlessly to the ground. Sometimes when I'm driving around these days, leaves skitter in front of my car and I almost brake, thinking they're small animals.

Animated leaves
enjoy one last fling before
landing, moldering.

November 13: Dog at Rest

The Rose-Marie and Eijk van Otterloo Collection of 17th century Dutch and Flemish Masterworks is now showing at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston, and I was fortunate enough to see this exhibit on opening night. My favorite painting in the whole collection is this one:

Gerrit Dou 

Leiden 1613–1675 

Dog at Rest, 1650 

Oil on panel 

6 ½ x 8 ½ inches (16.5 x 21.6 cm) 

Notice how small this painting is. And yet you can see every hair on the dog, feel the bark on the twigs-- the brushwork is exquisite. And there's something about this little dog, curled up but with eyes open as if waiting for the owner of that little shoe to show up any second, that makes it incredibly appealing. It's more than a still life, capturing the essence of suspended energy and holding it for more than 350 years. I love this piece, and was very grateful to be able enjoy it one more time in this new venue.

Resting Dutch puppy--

eye open for centuries

waiting for us, now.

November 12: Big Boston Moon

We landed in Boston at 5:30 this evening, which these days feels like midnight because it's already pitch dark, and headed back to my sister's house in a taxi. As we were leaving the environs of the airport, the slightly waning gibbous moon was just rising over the water, dramatically oversized and gold. A big egg yolk moon. We couldn't remember seeing the moon in Houston. It was as if it had been hanging out up here for the past few days, waiting to make such a grand entrance for our return.

Stage lights, center: Moon.
Outshines city lights, transforms
a long taxi ride.