Sunday, April 7, 2013

perhaps like the moon, we wax and wane: a diary

Saturday, April 6
2:30 p.m.
Today the snow arrives on a light breeze from the south. It is mild. The snow is damp. There is a winter weather advisory.

From Lookout Point, looking northwest.

Yesterday I tried walking to the river without the snowshoes but halfway there I was breaking through, sinking nearly to my knees, so I swore softly and turned back for the ’shoes.

Every once in a while I head to the river by reversing my usual loop, as I did today. This brings me to Lookout Point from the south, across the fields, rather than from the east, along the bank. I noticed a deer as I approached, but he had already noticed me, and, as usual, mostly what I saw was a big, white, furry underside of tail, raised in a salute of “so long.” As soon as I reached the point, I saw three more deer, on the other side of the river, down a bit, but again, they saw me coming, or at least two did, they told the third, then all away, a trio of tails.

Looking down river.

Along with rabbit tracks, I have been seeing deer this week, or should I say, seeing deer tails. Except for one, a kindred spirit, who I watched yesterday as he made his way slowly along the bank. He was down river, on the other side, coming my way, each hoof punching through the snow up to his knees. He paused to stare at me, or so I thought—me sitting on a blanket on the snow, enjoying the sunshine. Then he turned away from the river, plodded into the woods, swearing softly at the crusty but relenting snow.

Friday, April 5
5:30 a.m.
Obsessed with an upper peninsula journal. Don’t know how it got started. I redid the layout and now, adding labels, "topics," to the posts. Also, accidentally deleted two or three posts.

Thursday, April 4
7 a.m.
I have been waning all week. Mental lassitude as much as physical—the past two days I have walked either to or from town, made the river loop, worked on candles and around the house, getting the front door painted. But this morning, despite sleeping deep, I am physically tired.

Elliott, on the other hand, has spring fever. As soon as we get up he is scurrying around the cabin sideways and tearing at his scratching post (the chair). I let him out. In a few minutes, he dashes in. He eats. Then, back out. In a little while, in. Then out. And so it goes. Through the day.

Later, after nuzzling then inhaling a catnip leaf, Elliott rests.

Wednesday, April 3
6 a.m.
A quick, hot fire and up early. Does this bode well for the day? Coming back from yesterday which, despite getting a fair amount of work done, deteriorated into feelings of having failed at something, at anything, most everything. Too much dwelling on comparisons and financial pictures and tattered clothes I can’t give up.

“But it takes time to build a business, Rosie.”

Energy sapped; energy waned. Which is it? Does energy run low and spirits follow? Or do sagging spirits become a physical anchor? Or maybe it’s the moon? The price of tea in China?

I made candles and took photos, adding the floating sun, the floating bee-on-a-flower, and the votives to the Etsy shop. I have info on two festivals in L’Anse in June that I plan to sell at.

The van spent the day at Jerry’s for an overdue oil change. The walk home was pleasant; Julie joined me, updating me on the kitten trapping across the road, which was just about complete. With all those cats now spayed or neutered … well, the spring kitten season approaches. It will be interesting to see how her efforts play out.

All day the northwest wind blew cold and hard. The sun was out, the icicles dripped, but that is all, and it all seemed so very harsh—the wind, the sun, the hard-packed snow. I walked atop the snow to the river and over to the pine grove. I snipped a couple of red twig dogwood branches to add to the piece of Guatemalan quilt that is now a wall hanging in a red twig frame.

My Easter cactus shows no sign of blooming, but the impatiens, brought in last fall, has a bud.

Bloomin’.

Last night a dream of massive road work in both city and country settings. I walked alongside, making my way somewhere, going from countryside to city via a door that someone else opened for me. It was daytime in the country; nighttime in the city. Many people working, lots of machinery, trucks.

One of the week's projects was chopping up beeswax.

Tuesday, April 2
6:30 a.m.
Every cold morning now inches toward the last. I sleep well with the upper deck door slightly open, waking shortly before the six-o’clock alarm to close it. Then, if I don’t pull up the extra cover, the chill keeps me drowsily awake.

Usually just before or after I close the door, Elliott gets under the covers, snuggling alongside me. I’m on my left side, and he stretches from my chin down into my belly, purring. He will knead my left arm, gently pat or lick my face. I put my right arm around him, occasionally rub his belly or scratch his head. When the alarm goes off, or just before, he leaves.

Monday, April 1
6:30 a.m.
There was a moment yesterday evening when the snow was coming down so thick the kitchen window over the sink was white. All day, the north wind kicked. The snow came and went in moments. Sunshine peeked through. Saturday, it rained all day, and there was a south wind.

April Fools indeed.


Read last week’s post, or listen to this featured post from an upper peninsula journal.