Sunday, February 6, 2011


February is merely as long as is needed to pass the time until March.
Dr. J. R. Stockton

Peering through the back door window, nothing but darkness could be seen above the old garage, now a garden room. Venus, my early morning friend, had forsaken me. In hiding, behind clouds that surely must be there, her absence portended a dreary, sunless Sunday.

Now early afternoon, the sky is cloudy and gray - no blue skies smiling at me (I didn't know this was an Irving Berlin song), no sun coming over the mountain.

My thinking is lyric haunted today. So, Venus (my girl friends and I played this record till it was worn out and couldn't be played anymore), if you will, please send a little sun to give a thrill.

February, when the days of winter seem endless 
and no amount of wistful recollecting can bring back
any air of summer.
  Shirley Jackson,  Raising Demons


The Eagle Cam in Shepherdstown, WV, has been an important internet stop for the past several days, ever since a friend sent the link. A male and female eagle have been preparing their nest, high above ground, for their young.
This morning there was a lone, white egg in the nest. Now, there are two - tomorrow, three? 

This is the time of year that the eagles lay their eggs - I didn't know that till a few days ago. Some interesting observation is ahead while the eggs are being kept warm and protected.

Here is the link if you're curious and would like to watch:


There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you ..... 
In spring, summer and fall people sort of
have an open season on each other; 
only in the winter, in the country, 
can you have longer, quiet stretches
when you can savor belonging to yourself.
Ruth Stout


The goal was a book a week. I'm behind - way behind! Father Tim and all the inhabitants of Mitford wait patiently between the pages till A Light in the Window is picked up again and opened for reading. This week the goal is to finish the present year in Mitford and start eavesdropping on what Father Tim and the other residents of Mitford are doing in These High Green Hills. The title snags my interest - high green hills surround me.

Another Christmas has passed in Mitford and Father Tim is preparing his Easter sermon. On his mind is the offer from his elderly, wealthy parishioner to send Dooley away to school. Also on his mind is Cynthia, still away in New York. Their relationship is getting closer to being a permanent one.

His thoughts turn, too, to the wealthy widow who is getting more and more brazen in her overtures to him. Father Tim would like to nip it in the bud once and for all, but she dangles thousands of dollars for the local childrens' home as a bribe to woo him and keep him roped in. The next pages should reveal how Father Tim escapes the noose.

 There seems to be so much more winter than we need this year.
   Kathleen Norris


When it was still covering the ground and still falling from the sky, it seemed the snow had always been here and would ever be here. But, today, it's almost gone. Only patches remain here and there. On the higher mountains, the story is different. Topped in white, they stand in contrast to the brown spread beneath them.
Snow will come again. It's only February, and winter still has a hold on the valley. 


Loud are the thunder drums 
in the tents of the mountains.
Oh, long, long
Have we eaten chia seeds
and dried deer's flesh of the summer killing.
We are tired of our huts
and the smoky smell of our clothing.
We are sick with the desire for the sun
And the grass on the mountain.
Paiute Late Winter Song