Spirits of the Earth

The weather here is as indecisive as a fat kid in a candy shop.

Yesterday I walked a farmer's field, the muddy stubble rising in hills beneath my feet, the green grass poking its sweet head in between the furrows.  In caelo supra valles, sol lucet clarussior quam feminae ornamenta.  (In the sky above the hills, the sun shone brighter than a woman's jewels.)  The sky was bluer than the ocean on a still day and in the distance, I could see Moscow Mountain, its peak white with snow.  It was cold, but as the sun set it hung close to me, warming the world in a dusting of golden light.

This morning I sit cross-legged on our gold velvet couch; across from me stands my Charlie Brown tree: slightly bent but cheerful strung with popcorn and cranberries.  The world is white now, swirling in furies of snow falling hard, fast, crooked.  It began less than an hour ago, but the red car in the neighbor's drive is now topped with white and the road is thickly dusted.

As I walked those hills yesterday, my shadow bobbed along on the next hill over, waving back when I lifted a hand in greeting.  I could feel fairies and dryads all around me.  The world is surely magic, full of spirits and the spiritual.

Snowfields

Snow has turned the fields outside Moscow into wilderness.  It makes this place treacherously beautiful.  When I was sledding, snow streaked across the old farmer's hill we were on; everything glowed orange in the falling white.  Trees in the distance stood fuzzy, like an old photograph--and just as quiet.  It felt as if we had been displaced: like we, laughing in our wool hats and wet gloves and ears full of snow, were the only creatures alive in a land of whiteness.  

It was magic, being alive just then. 

Pachabell Rant

My roommate, Kait, showed this to me today and it was so fantastic I had to share it with the world!  (Or the three people who actually look at this. Ha.)

[Jessie, this is especially for you.  Make sure you listen.]

Leavenworth, WA

I'm giddy with the falling of the snow.
I laugh as it catches in my eyelashes and the fur of my coat.
It's such a white world of firsts!

First snowball fight.
First snow bunny.
First snow angel.
First below zero experience.
First time to wake to ice inside the windows.
First time sledding.
First time to eat snow.

Over Thanksgiving break, I went to stay with the Turnbulls, and experienced many of my firsts with them.  It was a splendid visit, and all of us were very sad when it came to an end.  While I was there, we played in the snow, played duets for hours, read books, watched Wives and Daughters, cooked, baked, ate, played in the snow some more, etc, etc. It was such fun!

Reading with Uncle Matt

Bella sledding

MacAdam :)

A walk in the five degree weather!

Reading in a bookstore downtown.

Making a Thanksgiving poster

All us kids.  (Now picture all these people on that little yellow sled Bella was pulling. Yeah, we're awesome.)

Wind.

"Is that rain?"  I threw open the front door.  Rainless wind tore across the yard, ripping leaves from trees and strewing them along the street.  Like soldiers attacking a bastion, the wind battered against the house all night long.  When it would wake me, I lay in bed with my head under a barricade of blankets, listening to the sounds like sirens, like wolfs howling in derision.

The wind is gone this morning, but its story is not.  On my way to school this morning, I passed a little brick house.  Four children and their mother were crowded in the front window, staring out at the tree smashed against their house. Trees are lying--like corpses of soldiers--in the streets.  The last vestige of orange leaves has been torn from the trees that still stand.

Downtown all the power is out.  The dark shops are like the first breath of a ghost town.  When I got to school, it too was dark.  Students milled around the commons room, unsure if there would be classes.  I decided there wouldn't be and skipped back home through the blue-skyed aftermath of the storm.

A stack of books sits in front of me.  Latin needs to be read.  But I just might bundle up again and return to the story of the wind.

Boots!

My new boots!  The snow boots are a little large...or, um, WAY large.

Fall.

Fall is sensual.  The leaves are gold, red, orange:  like fireworks on sticks.  The air is crisp and cocky and the whole world smells like apples and cinnamon.  On my run this morning, my breath puffed stinging through my mouth and nose, like I was smoking peppermints.  With the neighbor's dog loping beside me, I jogged through piles of browning leaves, the dampness sweet and musty.  Along the sidewalk, crunchy blades of grass stood like little soldiers, alert in uniforms of ice.  It's been like wandering through a book, getting to know this new world of autumn; and they say it's going to snow soon!