mood: tutli-putli
stop, look & listen.
i am submerged with gratitude for small gestures of home: snowshoes by the front door, sleighbells in the garden. time-softened towels, drinking tea with k. (cups & saucers, delicate cranberry-almond rectangles), the hollow bowls of miso that dad & i sip on our way home from the train-station. tomorrow, we are going to bake all the best of my grandmother's handwritten recipes. my laundry is spinning happily in the dryer & i am sitting here with coffee & the distant grumbling of a familiar house: dishes & cupboards in the kitchen, the snapping of a hearth-fire, traditional carols & a dull rustle like the turning of pages.
the train-ride from halifax was full of familiar faces, but mostly i didn't feel like talking. instead i slept under my coat, alternately reading & watching for the constant swoosh of telephone poles and wires (there is so much snow in the depths of new brunswick). but we all gathered together at cafe tables in the montreal station, drinking tepid coffee & talking sleepily about directions. it is both a steadiness of motion and also a timing, and i left halifax without needing to seek refuge.
before dinner, i bundled into as many sweaters as could fit under my coat and went out to the five o'clock darkness, to the snow-laden orchard where broomstick branches & footprints & aloneness gather. a violet glowing from greenhouse windows & amber lights of the kitchen reflect on the ground, stir the gathering wind. the lake is supposed to freeze tonight, calm & deep enough for skating. in the orchard i could hear such stillness and everywhere, the stars.
the train-ride from halifax was full of familiar faces, but mostly i didn't feel like talking. instead i slept under my coat, alternately reading & watching for the constant swoosh of telephone poles and wires (there is so much snow in the depths of new brunswick). but we all gathered together at cafe tables in the montreal station, drinking tepid coffee & talking sleepily about directions. it is both a steadiness of motion and also a timing, and i left halifax without needing to seek refuge.
before dinner, i bundled into as many sweaters as could fit under my coat and went out to the five o'clock darkness, to the snow-laden orchard where broomstick branches & footprints & aloneness gather. a violet glowing from greenhouse windows & amber lights of the kitchen reflect on the ground, stir the gathering wind. the lake is supposed to freeze tonight, calm & deep enough for skating. in the orchard i could hear such stillness and everywhere, the stars.
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