November 30: Three Crows

When I got back to the office after lunch, I noticed three crows forming a black triangle in a tree. A co-worker said they had just been bathing in a puddle in our parking lot, splashing a lot of water around. I wish I'd seen it. As we watched them fluff up and preen in the tree, someone leaving the office asked what we were looking at. When we pointed out the crows, he noted that his wife always tells him that according to some Native American tradition, it's good luck to see three crows together like that. We'll take it.

No ice yet. Crows bathe,
then three preen in late fall sun.
Is this warmth lucky?

November 29: Giraffe Sky

I started off the day with low energy and ended the day in a similar place--just the biorhythms, I guess--so didn't notice much that struck a spark with me. Being tired doesn't help my creativity. But at one point I looked out the window and noticed that the clouds over Mount Battie had formed a cool patchy pattern, like the spots on a giraffe. That will have to do for today.

Sky's a blue giraffe
stretching over Mount Battie.
Brought by climate change?

November 28: Darkness

Sometimes things stated simply can sound both stupid and poetic at the same time. Take this line from a Melissa Etheridge song: "And the night is black, as black as night." It sounds like she just got lazy in the lyrics department. But when I stepped outside tonight into the cloying, murky darkness, those lines were the first thing that popped into my head.

Night comes early as we descend into the depths of dark that precede Winter Solstice. It seems near midnight when I leave work each evening. Tonight, the unseasonable warmth combined with a low cloud ceiling to convey the feeling that night was literally hanging over us, like a thick dark cloth thrown over a cage.

Night is dark and deep.
Home, I turn on all the lights,
shed this thick, black cloak.

November 27: Breakwater, High Tide, New Moon

The title sums it up. My husband and I decided to take advantage of both a rare, work-free Sunday and relatively mild weather by getting out for a morning walk together. Our destination: the Rockland Breakwater. However, we weren't really thinking about the fact that high tide during what can still be considered the new moon might make walking the mile-long granite jetty a challenge. With about an hour still to go till full high tide, the end of the breakwater just before the lighthouse was already underwater, stranding the lighthouse as its own little island in the middle of outer Rockland Harbor. Strong winds also complicated the situation, pushing waves up over the ocean-facing side of the breakwater even at its beginning, where the wall is highest. We walked out a short distance, dodging spray, but when waves began to spread across the entire width of the wall, we decided to turn around. We weren't the only ones. The weather wasn't quite warm enough for anyone to want to risk being soaked in icy sea water, or worse, stranded on the wrong end of a flooded sea wall.

New moon, high tide, full
harbor, brimming breakwater.
We skirt the edges.

November 26: Games

It's a good sign that I have nothing better to do tonight than watch the Stanford - Notre Dame game and learn how to play Angry Birds for the first time. I may perhaps be the last person in the country with a mobile Apple device to download some version of Angry Birds (I went with the free Rio version). In any case, I'm positively relishing the true feeling of indulgence that allows me to while away the last few hours of my day engaged in such frivolous activity. Do I care if Andrew Luck, the Stanford QB about whom people are talking Heisman Trophy, has a good game? Do I really care if I advance to the next level of catapulting cartoon birds at laughing monkeys?

As someone who always has to be doing something productive, who can't even watch a football game without, for example, reading a book or doing a crossword puzzle at the same time, allowing myself to relax like this is a positive sign. A good dinner out with friends a few hours earlier helped set the mood, for which I'm thankful. Good food, friends, and laughter can do that. Now my only responsibility tonight is this post. So forgive me for making a game out of it...

It's all fun and games
till someone loses an eye...
like those damn monkeys.

November 25: Tree lighting

Tonight Portland, Rockland, and probably many other towns are holding their tree lighting ceremonies, officially kicking off the holiday season. My husband and I are currently in a car driving home from Portland, so we're missing out. Instead we're enjoying the quotidien pageantry of headlights, taillights, and neon signs on shops from inside the warm car. And as we draw closer to Camden and anticipate a view of the Camden Hills, we're watching for something even better: tonight is the first night when Bob Oxton drives up Mount Battie to turn on the star erected on the tower. Any moment now, we're going to turn a corner and catch our first glimpse. I feel just like I did each Christmastime when I was a little kid and saw the lit star that first time.

Missed the tree lighting,
but the lit Mount Battie star
shines brightly once more.

November 24: Thanksgiving

So much to be grateful for on this holiday of feasting, family, and football: this sparkling day, the beauty of the snow on the Camden Hills early this morning, the generosity and warmth of my husband's big family, our health, our jobs, our marriage, a table full of wonderful food including the pecan pie I lugged all the way from Houston, the two NYT crosswords my mother-in-law saved for me to do while we watched football, spending time with our sweet nephews and niece (two big, two small), a clear starry night, a warm place to stay, and things to look forward to tomorrow here in Portland...

Thankful for the stars
in a snowless sky tonight,
all I love below.

November 23: Protection

Big wet snow falling today. I walked to work and then spent the first half hour there shoveling the walk. I also topped off the bird feeders, imagining the birds would be making their rounds often on a day like this. Within ten minutes titmice and chickadees were waiting their turns on a nearby bush whose branches were bent low to the ground by snow.

While I was shoveling, I noticed the frozen body of a woolly bear caterpillar stretched out on the sheltered cement patio, untouched by snow. It had clearly missed its chance to curl up in the shelter of some dead leaves or under a flake of tree bark. When I'd finished clearing the walk and was heading in, I decided to at least move its furry little body off the patio. But when I picked it up, it curled into a ball. It was still alive. Apparently it had enough antifreeze in its veins to survive at least the initial blast of this snow storm. Grateful that now I was potentially saving it rather than just giving it a better spot to decompose, I dropped it through the lattice so it would find protection amid the dry, snow-free leaves under the porch.

Later, while I was working at my desk, a chickadee paused on the edge of my feeder for at least five minutes, unmoving except for its alert eyes and an occasional turn of its head. It didn't seem to be in any distress. It peeped a few times, but mostly just sat there looking around, its tail scrunched up against the window, its tiny black toes clinging to the plastic edge of the feeder. Beyond, trees swayed and rocked. I think the bird just wanted a little rest somewhere dry and out of the wind. Eventually I stood up, and it quickly flew off into the woods.

Shelter from the storm--
as simple as one dead leaf.
Come out of the wind.

Bonus: link to Bob Dylan singing the opening stanzas of Shelter from the Storm. (I couldn't resist!)

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.