TO EACH HIS OWN

Photo and photo/collage by S. Auberle

Waning moon high in the sky this Feast of Epiphany morning and the drummers are drumming on this last day of Christmas. Snow covers the ground and the air is crisp and exhilarating. Yesterday, late afternoon, the wind was fierce as I walked. You could almost lean into it as I headed east up Abbey Road. The slush had turned to ice that crunched beneath my feet and little dervishes of snow whirled about me. The mountains were missing, veiled in white clouds.

Yes, there are those of us who actually love this kind of weather. And those who don't, who would, given a choice, spend these beautiful months in tropical climes. Which is why I've posted a picture for each above.

But for those of us snow lovers, there's also the joy of coming into a warm house, building a fire, settling into your favorite chair with a hot mug of something, or a glass of wine and your current favorite book. I'm reading at the moment, among about six others, American Bloomsbury. A fascinating book about the life and times of some of America's greatest literary geniuses:

"Even the most devoted readers of nineteenth century American literature often assume that the men and women behind the masterpieces were as dull and staid as the era's static daguerreotypes. Susan Cheever's latest work, however, brings new life to the well-known literary personages who produced such cherished works as the The Scarlet Letter, Moby-Dick, Walden, and Little Women. Rendering in full color the tumultuous, often scandalous lives of these volatile and vulnerable geniuses, Cheever's dynamic narrative reminds us that, while these literary heroes now seem secure of their spots in the canon, they were once considered avant-garde, bohemian types, at odds with the establishment."

I will never look at Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson in the same way again. Wow...

Apparently I've rambled on this long because I will not be posting for a week or so. Off to the Midwest where, unfortunately, winter seems to be missing. I will leave you with my second poem of 2007--though very modest, the words seem to have finally begun arriving--or else my muse is still recovering from a New Year's celebration. In honor of the twelve drummers drumming:

winter afternoon

woodpecker tapping on door

my heart says come in

Peace,

- mimi