You’re welcome for the rain.
I should have been answering fan letters from farmers and poets all morning, but they don’t realize it yet.
My phone sits quiet, unappreciated.
It’s raining because there’s new astronomy gear to try.
So you’re welcome.
Happy Friday, y’all! It’s usually the day to share an observation of the sky, written so both my blind and sighted friends alike can partake.
Given the displeasure of the astronomical gods (perhaps I need to cast a Stephen Hawking book onto the fire as sacrifice), that ol’ sky is as gray as your Aunt Millie’s mood on a Tuesday.
“Oh, there is no color left in the world.”
Endless Gray?
Looking out the window, I’d be inclined to agree with your venerated auntie. A steady drizzle falls, and the gray sky smudges out the top of Long Mountain. Yet…
There’s something happening. The faintest of murmurs. Mother Nature rolls over in her sleep, and hits the snooze button. Spring isn’t here, but the idea is creeping in.
The silver maple stands forlornly in the back yard, streaked with rain, bark glistening black and gray, with splotches of pale green lichen. Light red buds with a hint of orange start to go fuzzy. The bees have already found these maple blooms. They were buzzing around their hives the other day, black legs laden with bright yellow pollen. Their “pollen baskets” gave the impression of them carrying tiny purses. It’s hard to see a bee’s knee, but when she lands on the hive to scuttle inside, one catches a fleeting glimpse.
An Ancient Green
My little red car wound up and down the mountain roads yesterday, on the way to a business networking fancy gala event. Thank god the lady dressed as Minnie Mouse had on converse shoes, too. (Hey, she even won an award for her business. So did a tractor dealership. Country living rocks.)
After grumbling at the GPS, I looked up, and finally saw.
This is something that I always forget to do, and my eyesight is excellent.
The car crested a hill, and smoky blue mountains marched southwards. Gray trees stretched towards a matching sky.
Down into the valley, woosh. Tap the brakes, round the bend. Bark colored rocks stand guard for two hundred million years by the road. Like the silver maple outside my window, they’re splotched with pale green lichen, and a darker shade of moss. It’s faded, forest green, something to keep the idea of living things in mind through the long winter.
A stream cut through the dark earth, a hint of red in the brown, waters rushing clear over ancient stones of deep gray.
The car crests the next hill. A farmer’s pasture waits for spring, cows matching the mud, rummaging for a sprig of grass.
There’s some there, green in a winter way. It isn’t lush, vibrant, the thing that shouts “HEY, I’M PHOTOSYNTHIZING AND MAN ISN’T THE SUN BEAUTIFUL TODAY, HOW ARE YOU DOING?”
(Everyone knows plants don’t pay attention to grammar, and are a tad bit enthusiastic when they’re sipping that sunshine.)
It’s subdued, faded, dormant, tenacious.
It’s the best kind of hopeful. There’s not a shred of denial about it.
It’s patient, ancient.
It knows it’s winter now, but spring will come again.
Treasures From Earth
For our weekly gem, here’s something of subtle beauty to match the color of the day. This is one of Claude Debussy’s earliest works, composed between 1888-91. To give context: Impressionism was a thing, Thomas Edison was inventing up a storm, Van Gough died around this time, and Scott Joplin was honing his chops, still a few years away from publishing Maple Leaf Rag.
Enjoy!
I love the gray. The kind of cold that lets you get warm and is happy for you when you do.