December 14: Two Planets

A highlight of being outside selling Christmas trees tonight was seeing, as the evening darkened and the chill deepened, two planets shining brightly in opposite sides of the sky. High in the east rose Jupiter, king of the (Roman) gods, our largest planet. Setting low in what I think was the southwest: brilliant Venus, goddess of love, our brightest planet, the Evening Star. And just below Venus, a house crazy with Christmas lights, flashing in all its holiday color and glory, as if taunting the stars and two planets. But Venus outshone the whole earthly spectacle.

Bright goddess of love,
admired for eons, shine on.
All else will soon pass.

December 13: Murder of Crows

My friend Ron called earlier to let me know that when he got back from some errands today, there were a couple dozen crows in his back yard, just hanging out in the trees and pecking at things in the yard. He tried cawing at them, and they didn't respond. When he played the calls of a raven, however, they anxiously flew off. But it wasn't long before they were back. What did they want?

I asked Ron if he'd looked back there to see what they might be after. Was there something dead they were scavenging? I told him to be careful, that he might find something unsavory. He promised to report back.

That was several hours ago. I haven't heard from him since...

A murder of crows.
What, or whom, do they wait for?
What else is back there?

December 12: Pretty Eggs

I received a dozen fresh eggs this morning from my friend Janet's laying hens. She's got a mixed flock, so the eggs are all different colors and shades: warm brown, porcelain white, pale blues. (Araucanas account for the blue ones, I'm told.) In the basket, they truly shine like the natural gems that they are. And the gold inside--well, you know you've got good eggs when you see those rich, gold yolks from free-range, happy, well-fed, organically raised chickens. This is truly prime bounty from a friend's farm, for which I am very grateful.

Happy, still-laying
hens translate sunshine to yolks,
which we admire, eat.

December 11: Whiff of Skunk

Green parsley still pokes up through the dried leaves in our garden. Friends report budding forsythia. There's no snow to be seen on the ridgeline of Mount Megunticook as we roll into the two-week Christmas count-down. Our bottle of Grandpa Lundquist's Holiday Glogg waits, unopened. Our Christmas decorations are still tucked away in the shed.

But despite the askew weather, we did do some seasonal things today: we bought Christmas wrap and flannel PJs at Reny's, and then we watched a football game with a friend while enjoying moose stew next to a warm wood stove. As we left our friend's house, passing his many cords of stacked firewood, we picked up on a whiff of skunk in the cold air. Another living thing confused about what season it is. Our friend says the skunk lives under the woodshed. If the weather continues like this, that's going to be one tired skunk come spring, wishing it had had a few more days of hibernation.

Christmas lights through trees,
new flannel reindeer PJs...
and so it begins.

December 10: Feeder Etiquette

When I'm working on the laptop on my couch, I can see the kitchen window, where we have a small window bird feeder. (I also just hung next to it a seed-covered house that I was given as a gift.) This afternoon as I'm typing away, I was distracted by a flurry of activity at the feeder, which has otherwise been fairly quiet the past few weeks. All of a sudden, three house finches, a small flock of goldfinches, and several chickadees and titmice are all jockeying for position in the feeder. Some are even landing on and pecking at the seed house.

Thrilled to have some birds to look at rather than my computer screen, I sneak out to the kitchen to get a closer look. The different behaviors among the species--the feeder etiquette (or lack thereof)--can be fascinating. Chickadees and titmice usually fly in, grab a seed, then fly off. They don't seem to mind if other birds are in the feeder, although the larger titmouse will sometimes scare off a chickadee. The house finches are usually vocal, and often in pairs. Today there's one male-female pair, and then an extra male. The two males do not want to be in the feeder together, and each time they meet, they flutter at one another till one flies off. But the funniest to watch are the goldfinches, the smallest of all. Not only are they completely brazen about going in the feeder with other birds, but if a goldfinch is in the feeder first, it opens its bill at other birds in what's clearly an aggressive gesture, driving them away. Other goldfinches are fine--four or five often cluster in and on the feeder--but a house finch and a chickadee are both scared off by a bird almost half their size.

Meanwhile, in the background, a squirrel runs along the top of the fence with its mouth stuffed full of leaves. It must be bolstering its nest up in the willow tree just over the fence in our neighbor's yard.

After about ten minutes of this activity, the birds move on, and it's been quiet ever since. I'm thankful I paid attention when I did.

Grab one seed quickly
or linger, hog the feeder.
Afternoon traffic.

December 9: Full Moon

A full moon is dramatic. A full moon hidden, revealed, and then hidden again by fringed clouds scudding over the Camden Hills is even more dramatic.

This is the Cold Moon or the Long Nights Moon, lighting up these long cold nights before the Winter Solstice.

In place of streetlight
full moon poised outside our house,
wreathed by ragged clouds.

December 8: The Heavens

One of the blessings and curses of living in Maine is the weather. It's the number one topic of conversation around here. It's also one of our biggest entertainments, especially on days when experiences with the great outdoors are limited to what one sees out the window. Today was a perfect case in point. I was awakened in the pre-dawn by the roar of rain and wind. By the time I left the house for an early meeting, fat, wet flakes of snow had already blanketed my car. School was delayed, cars were off the road. But as I was driving to the meeting, the radio was saying that the storm had already passed through Rockland and was basically over in the Midcoast. Sure enough, in the southern sky I could see parting clouds and blue sky. For the rest of the day a sharp wind blew hard in a blue sky, blowing away what little snow had accumulated. At sunset, two big puffs of cloud sat like hot pink explosions in an otherwise clear, still-blue sky. When I left work, an almost-full moon hung high over Mount Battie, and early stars and Jupiter shone bright--a beautiful night. We got it all today. Just one of the reasons why I love this place. And yet another reason to wish I were a photographer.

Rain, wind, snow, sun, cloud:
all the elements are here.
Beauty around me.

December 7: Self Care

Sometimes certain themes crop up often enough to make it seem the universe is trying to send a message. For me, one theme running through the past week or so (besides snowy owls) has been "self care"--that is, taking time to do something special for yourself. Taking care of yourself helps make you better able to take care of others, is the basic point.

Coming off two sick days during which I indulged in a lot of reading and even some writing, I felt like I'd been pretty good about self care. What did I know? Tonight was the annual Maine Women's Network holiday open house at a local spa, where I got a foot scrub--exfoliation and massage--and then a chair massage to soothe my aching shoulders. And all that in addition to enjoying the company of interesting women and great hors d'oeuvres (and those red velvet and chocolate truffle petites-fours!). I think I can really get into this self care thing...

The comforts of touch,
conversation, tasty food...
Pampered self: strong self.

December 6: Cinematic moment

Still home sick, perhaps a bit feverish, I'm looking out a rain-streaked back window through bare trees to the river. The opposite bank is a low, flat floodplain plastered with wet, russet leaves. It's a stage of sorts on which not much plays out besides the antics of crows and, once in a while, a visiting yellow lab. So I was startled to suddenly see come into view a woman carrying a big blue umbrella. She was dressed in a nondescript trench coat and appeared to have very long hair. There was nothing unusual about her, really, except that in my fanciful mind that's probably watched too many movies, I had this sudden wild thought that she was a visitor who had just materialized there, perhaps a ghost, perhaps someone from the past. An enigmatic figure, in any case. But as I'm pondering this cinematic moment in my head, wondering what will happen next, I notice the familiar yellow lab rambling through the woods nearby. Woman and dog eventually trudge back up the leaf-littered hill together and out of sight. Were they really there, or just a figment of my imagination?

Rainy day still shot:
woman with blue umbrella
ponders the river.

December 5: Inside

Spent almost the entirety of today at home, inside, trying to shake--or at least begin to recuperate from--an icky virus that's been kicking me in the gut for the past week. There's nothing like an illness, even a slight one, to pull us out of our heads and remind us that we're all animals, in vulnerable, animal bodies. And sometimes our bodies force us to take some down time when our minds don't want to. But in this age of social media, hanging out at home is almost too stimulating. The never-ending string of Facebook updates leading me to a variety of fascinating weblinks, constant email both personal and from work, several rounds of Word Jong to catch up on, as well as two weeks worth of New Yorkers on my iPad, new songs I had to download from iTunes, and an animated advent calendar on my computer desktop all kept me so occupied/distracted that I never even got to the one, relaxing thing I planned to do today: read a new mystery novel (also on my iPad). The good this is that I accomplished most of these things while lounging on the couch, so I was at least resting my body if not my mind.

Sick, I retreat to
a comforting habitat:
the living room couch.

December 4: Balsam

I spent part of today selling Christmas trees and wreaths for West Bay Rotary. Thankfully, the day was a mild one for being outside lugging trees around. Also, most people are in good spirits when picking out their tree, especially with Christmas music blasting from the boom box. One customer even turned up the volume when the Grinch song came on the radio, and another grooved to the Charlie Brown Christmas theme song.

My favorite part of my stint was when I had to replace a sold tree with one from "back stock," cutting the twine wrapped around the tree to spring free the boughs, then fluffing them up to make the tree look full and pretty. Does any scent convey the essence of Maine woods like that of balsam fir needles? And a live tree is even better than one of those little pillows from a gift shop.

Fir boughs redolent
of Maine's boreal forest.
Christmas smells like this.