At Least It Fell on Saturday

The annual tug-of-war between springtime and winter is on. A time when the first hopes of spring are dashed upon KC's meteorological rocks.

Mother Nature has been toying with us. Fooled me. Fooled my daffodils. We've both started poking our heads out, misled by warm temperatures and sunshine. I thought I'd be spending the weekend cleaning up the yard, visions in my head of spring bulbs and getting my fingers in the dirt.

Said dirt is now covered by four inches and the snow continues to fall.

But it sure is beautiful.

It's also a gift, in that it forces you to stay indoors. Can't run the errands you planned, things get cancelled, you can't clean up the yard...

And - bonus - it's a Saturday which means no struggle to get to work and back.

So you light a fire and a few candles against the cold, and think about starting a pot of soup. Chicken with white bean, maybe.

Outer Darkness

I ask myself every year about this time: why don't I live in San Diego?

Winter can be fun for awhile: it's new and it's the holidays. You don't so much mind the snow (though the traffic is often a bitch) because everything looks like a Currier & Ives.

Once New Year's is over, however, reality returns: cold, dark, snow, ice, and wind that cuts to the proverbial bone.

One of my favorite meditation books is based on the seasons of nature. A phrase I particularly like: "Outer darkness calls for nourishment within."

A time to take our cue from the world around us. A time to slow down and hunker down. A time to reflect, to go within.

But I think I'm also gonna go to Florida.

Morning Fog

6:55 a.m.

My brain is full. Or so it seems.

The economy. The election. Gas prices. Hurricane Ike. Whatever. Add to that constant deadlines, the usual work stress, (fill in your life's pressures here).

The adrenaline is pumping all the time and we zoom from one thing to another... to another... to another...

And then a morning like this one happens.

The sun isn't quite up but the eastern sky is bright, glowing through fog that's crept up from the lake on Sandberg's 'little cat feet.'

The landscape is blurred and softened. The woods are quiet. It's 43 degrees outside - too cold for the bugs and frogs to sing, and the birds are still just waking up.

Take a breath.



Then another.




And another...