Feb. 15    I have several dozen pictures just like this. The snow falling at the edge of the world. Never gets old. Here is the chicken house and the chalet in the snow.     The icicles that formed at the roof over-hang one warm day. This over-hang will either melt gradually or avalanche…

Feb 7 Yesterday was warm enough to sit on the porch and watch the snow falling. Fig preferred to stay in and sleep.     The snow gets piled up in front of the house as the plow person keeps our driveway cleared. This snow shovel is my new workout equipment. No lifting just pushing…

 Feb. 5 This morning I woke to a pink sky.                         This was the view north through the trees above the house.     Tuesday we had a most excellent snowfall. On the left are the witches in the storm, and on the right, the hen house….

 Feb. 1: Cold and Bright Saturday, Jan. 30 It is snowing again; a very fine snow like mist is blowing down the mountain beside us. The valley is hidden by cloud or snow and we are again stranded on the edge of the world. It might be an edge of time, like in The Langoliers,…

 Jan 27        Sunday’s writing took me by surprise. It felt like sad was something I had not confronted consciously before but suddenly it was there in its basic form, unalloyed by anger, guilt, regret or depression. It has been easier in the past, for me to subsume sadness beneath and behind less…

Jan. 24  Six days it snowed: sometimes there was no world at all beyond our clearing. Yesterday there was a pale sun, but the mountains were still obscured by the blowing snow.     Today the sun shines in earnest; but still the snow blows down the hill.   For six days it snowed: the valley…

 jan 19 Time Jump Driving east on Eglinton,  I approach the lights where Jane Street runs down into a valley and  Eglinton slopes down to meet it.  Slowing, I imagine a shift  like a wind change and I’m  Almost certain That if I turn the corner and go north  my mother will still be alive. …

jan 18 My mother never knew Rain, who was born the year she died. She never saw any of my Christmas gingerbread creations.  This poem was written twenty-seven years ago. It was thirty years ago that my mother died. I can’t believe I have been so long without her. After she died I discovered I…

 jan. 12                Fish swim up the window.                                           The primordial valley. The Missisquoi River – 375 million years flowing.   Let it be a place we find in…

 jan. 9  The edge of the world. The mountains and the valley were gone when the day began. We looked out from the edge of the world. But the sun climbed higher and shone intermittently and all the while snow blew down the mountain from the north. After sunset the sky cleared and the stars…