71 thoughts on “Borrowing a Cup of Winter

  1. Hi Linda:

    If you are still short of winter, I’m afraid I can’t help you. Jack Frost doesn’t visit Panama. But if you’re ever short of warm sunlight, I can share plenty with you. That we have in abundance in this country in the middle of the world.

    I enjoyed the poem about Winter, even though I have never seen snow nor experience the Winter season.

    Regards,

    Omar.-

    1. Omar,

      Of course I “know” you don’t have snow, but when I remember your Christmas posts showcasing the decorations in the shopping areas, it seems you surely must!

      We have the same dynamic here. There aren’t any snowdrifts or people heading off to Grandma’s house in sleighs, but the retailers still go all out with snowmen, igloos – and “White Christmas” blaring from the speakers.

      Ah, well. We have our own beauties, dno’t we? Still, like so many transplants from “up north”, I long for snow from time to time.

      Linda

  2. Wonderful poem on winter. It’s hanging on by it’s cold fingertips today. I couldn’t believe yesterday’s weather in the 70’s and then the weather report said something about ice??? Ohhhh…then today came, the temperature dropped and it sure is wet…perhaps ice.

    I taught my daughters to ask Mrs.S. next door if they could borrow an egg here or there, perhaps sugar. I think it’s an important lesson to teach young ones to ask so they learn they can pay it forward and be there if someone asks for the same small thing or something a little bit different. It also, taught them to remember to return what we had borrowed. So easy, isn’t it? I’m floored by the people who ask for nothing…how unneighborly of them (me being judgmental or maybe I have a bee in my bonnet).

    1. Georgette,

      No ice here, but 2.75″ of rain since yesterday afternoon. Happy? Oh, my, yes. At least we’ll have a gray and cool weekend, and perhaps more rain. No one is complaining.

      But don’t you understand? Those who never need to ask are superior creatures! They’re far too prepared, too organized, too able to supply their own wants to require asking someone else for aid. (I’m being slightly tongue-in-cheek, here. Slightly.)

      The other thing we learned as children is that if someone brings you a container of cookies or soup, the container never is returned empty. There’s always a little something sent back – some muffins, or garden vegetables. The lesson was so clear: if we take care of one another, we don’t need someone else stepping in to take care of all of us.

      Linda

  3. Oh, my, that’s lovely Linda. You’ve made my photo look its very best. I feel like the neighbor who’s supplied a cup of sugar or milk and been invited over to share the cake.

    I just got home from dinner with a friend who lives at the top of the second ridge beyond Eastport, with a good view of the rising sun over her rolling fields and an equally good view of the setting sun over Grand Traverse Bay a couple of miles away. This morning, she said, she woke at dawn unsettled. Then the clouds moved, and she could see the full moon setting. She watched it until it disappeared beyond the Leelanau Peninsula. It’s going to be a good summer.

    After a whisper of springlike weather, it’s very cold again, but we all have power for now. Stars glitter above and the scraps of snow crunch beneath our feet. We, too, sing the season’s turning.

    1. Gerry,

      I’m so glad you like my treatment of your photo. It’s beautiful, and I thank you for letting me use it.

      For a few months each year, I have the pleasure of watching the moon from my bedroom window. Then it moves, and the sun travels north, allowing me to enjoy its setting each day. There aren’t any unbroken vistas here – it’s setting behind NASA and lakeside condos – but it’s still lovely, reflecting on the water. Now and then, I’ll drive into the country on a full moon, just to see the sun setting while the moon rises. Splendid.

      I’m glad your power is back. The storms we had yesterday reminded me that it’s not too soon for me to do a little supply-checking and re-organizing. When your cold and our warm meet above our heads, it can focus the attention.

      Linda

  4. This is lovely, and I have two friends who would particularly love the prose! So, my question is, “Does posting your link on Facebook have the same effect as reblogging?”
    ~ Lynda

    1. Lynda,

      Actually, no. Post away. As I understand it, the primary difference is that a posted link sends folks right back here. That dastardly “reblogging” strips out identifying information after the first reblog, so there isn’t a link to the original. I know some people have found a way for reblogged material to show up blank, or with a message of some sort, which is kind of cool. But it’s pretty far down on my list of things to worry about.

      So feel free to share with your friends. I’m glad you liked it, and I’m glad I thought of this way to talk about using Gerry’s photo!

      Linda

  5. Seems like we’re getting an early spring too. Not much winter or snow this year, contrary to the prediction that we got in late fall: record cold. So, I don’t know why this isn’t so, but I’m not complaining. Temps. in the double digits now (that’s about 50+F, which is very warm for us in winter!)

    And what a wonderful poem that is. Winter and grammar… I’d never have linked the two, but you’ve done it with absolute precision!

    1. Arti,

      I remember hearing some of those predictions last fall. And we were predicted to be warm and dry – which we mostly were, until February. Thank goodness some rains are coming now. We’ll hope they keep coming and fill up the lakes and reservoirs before summer’s heat – maybe there even will be some late snow for the ski resort operators in the mountains.

      I’m glad you enjoyed the poem. I guess it will have to be my “winter” this year.

      Linda

  6. I love the way your English lesson describes winter’s icy beauty!

    Meanwhile, two of my indoor plants were passing notes in class.

    Christmas Cactus: I’ve been blooming from a week before Christmas through Leap Year Day. Give me a break. Will you take over already? Claudia was watching Spring Break Week on the Price is Right when she plucked my dried last flower.

    Sunrise Cactus: Chill out! I’m early this year. She saw my one pink bud and knows she’ll be treated to an uninterrupted season of blooming.

    1. Claudia,

      Mrs. Deutsch would be so pleased to know that some of her grammar drills stuck with me. My goodness – when I think of those afternoons, diagramming sentences on the blackboard, I almost shudder. But it taught us important lessons about structure and how words function.

      We were in eighth grade, so we couldn’t be serious all the time. One week our class project was to create “cheers” for the Homecoming game. Most of what we came up with is gone, but I do remember this: “Two, four, six, eight – everybody conjugate!” Don’t you think that would inspire a football team?

      I had to check out the difference between the Christmas and Sunrise cactus. It seems mine all are Christmas, although they begin blooming at different times. I suspect part of that’s the indoor/outdoor difference. No blooms here, now. They quit blooming about a month ago, so I’ve pinched them back and fed them. They’re all ready for the growing season!

      And I’ll pretend I didn’t see the notes….

      Linda

      1. Ah, but given the biological meaning of conjugate, your science teacher(s) might not have been thrilled with the thought of teenagers rhythmically conjugating. But at least that’s not as suggestive as copulative verbs.

        1. Ah, but you have to remember. My 8th grade was 1958. Passing notes and eating lunch together still qualified as hot romance, at least in my circles. I still remember the shock we felt when we saw a couple holding hands on the school ground. It was the trending topic for weeks.

  7. That cup of winter seems to have spilled over here. The monarch butterflies are hiding out in the lantana – while the dovies are all puffed up on the fence (avoiding the red tailed hawk looking for a snack). Loved the way you herded the words into poetry! Fun! Bright spot in the grey weather!

    1. phil,

      Those red-tails seem to be everywhere right now. They’re hungry, too – I heard a sad tale yesterday about one that had a baby squirrel snack. Luckily, one of the babes escaped, although with a broken leg when it fell from the nest. It’s being well cared for by a local rehabber. I presume it will be released eventually, unlike the one who fell into my life and hung around for eight years, eating orange popsicles and watching Letterman.

      Me? I’ve got the windows open so I can listen to the rain. Yes, it’s a bit cool, but it goes with the poem. Glad you enjoyed it!

      Linda

  8. i grew up in an area with harsh winters and still dislike the cold that settles into my bones and stays there for months. however, this winter was actually no winter in my opinion and it won’t be good for us. mosquitoes are already swarming. winter is like medicine. we may not like it, but it’s good for us. lovely thoughts you’ve shared.

    1. sherri,

      That’s exactly right – unhappy though winter may be, we do need it. The mosquitoes are one issue, but so are the fruit trees that need chill hours, and people who need a sense of seasonal change.

      In one of his short stories, Tennessee Williams talks about the “rocking horse” weather of Southern California – a wonderful way to talk about the boredom of perfection. I prefer my seasonal horses to go somewhere.

      Happy you enjoyed the words - and thanks again for the introduction to typewriter text.

      Linda

    1. montucky,

      That’s right. Every time we got a late snow in Iowa, even if it was three feet deep, people would smile and say, “At least it won’t stay around forever.”

      But isn’t it pretty when it comes, and isn’t it a wonderful blanket for all of the spring you’ll be showing us soon?

      Linda

  9. Thanks for sharing this. We still have winter here in the southeast corner of Canada but it is waning. Feet of snow have melted away in the past few days. This year has not been as harsh as other years, pleasant and just enough snow for winter sports. I loved the title and all your writing in this blog post.

    1. Carol,

      Thank you so much for stopping by, and for your kind words. I’m quite fond of “grammarian” myself. It fairly reeks of wooden floors and rimless eyeglasses, not to mention subjects taught “to the tune of a hickory stick” – if anyone still remembers that little ditty – from 1907!

      I hope your melting is slow and steady. The moisture is good – flooding, not so much.

      Linda

  10. I have missed winter this year – which is funny because i usually moan about it. But it worries me that it was so mild – is this a harbinger of days to come? Or just the usual weather anomaly & next year I’ll be complaining about all the snow again…

    1. The Bug,

      You’re not alone, that’s for sure. I suspect last year’s drought has made everyone just a little edgy. We had some rain in February, and now are having a bit more, and I have yet to hear anyone complain. The more it rains, the more people smile.

      I’ve heard people even up in Canada talking about how warm and snow-free this year has been. I think everyone’s ready for some normal – whatever that may be. For us, normal means hurricanes – not something you really wish, but that’s how we get our water. For you, I suppose it’s feet of snow – no fun to deal with, but a darned good source of moisture!

      Happy day, whatever it brings!

      Linda

  11. I think the part of winter I’ve missed the most this year is standing out in the backyard on a cold, crisp, clear night and seeing the stars so bright they could be diamonds cutting my eyelids.

    Most winters I worship at the feet of the seven sisters on a regular basis. I only caught sight of the girls twice in this murky, cloudy season…

    Beautiful imagery in your verse.

    1. Coffeemuses,

      I’ve got too much light pollution over here for really good star-gazing. I judge the nice, low-humidity days by the view from the top of the Kemah-Seabrook bridge. Usually, you can just see the ships in the Houston Ship Channel. On a good day? All the way across to Smith Point and the other side of the bay. Galveston, too.

      But I do know those nights, and they’re wonderful. When the stars seemed so close, in wintertime, my dad would tell me if I caught one and pulled it down, I could make a wish and it would come true. Who knows how many hours of sleep I lost, reaching for stars?

      Linda

  12. Your poem is lovely. Who knew there was such poetry in grammar? As for winter–I have had a profoundly ambivalent feeling about it this year. The hills here, and the landscape out our windows, is gorgeous after a snowfall. At the same time, the October out-of-season storm resulted in such never-ending wreckage that, no matter how tiresome and brown the landscape has been (and it has been tiresome and brown!), I find myself unable to wish for snow.

    1. Susan,

      There’s poetry everywhere, don’t you think? At least, there’s potential poetry everywhere – we just need to set it free.

      You did suffer this year with the weather – no question about it. I suspect you experience winter’s slings and arrows much as we do tropical weather. There’s a certain excitement to a garden-variety tropical storm. You know there can be some wind damage and flooding, but there’s no need for panic. Real hurricanes? A different story, but with the same kind of “never-ending wreckage”.

      The same distinction probably obtains with snow storms. Certainly the blizzards I remember so fondly had more to do with snow that kept us home for a couple of days than real destruction. Power rarely went out, and we weren’t cooking dinner in the fireplace while wrapped in blankets. Snow storms meant books and hot chocolate and watching the snow swirling outside. Altogether lovely.

      The good news is that you’ll soon be losing your tiresome brown – spring’s just around the corner!

      Linda

      1. You do remind me how wonderfully the world just stops, becomes silent in its white glory, when there is a big snow. I’ll go back to loving it, I know. And speaking of lovely things: your comment on Roger Mitchell’s piece is a post all on its own. My favorite line of A Toy is kin to yours, I think: “The city fell, but cities do that.” And your closing line is perfect,perfect.

  13. I’ve always been glad you introduced me to Gerry’s blog and I know down in your neck of the woods, there isn’t a lot of winter — but believe me, to have a sunny day with 60 degree weather? This is what I’ve waited for, for ages! Not that it’s been horrid this year — but this is spring!

    And your poem is exquisite!

    1. jeanie,

      That’s right – it is spring, and it won’t be long until we’ll be seeing all those marvelous photos from your pond again. I’ve already seen a first batch of baby ducks, and the kingfishers are back. The coots are flocking up, getting ready to travel, and I have word from Kansas CIty that the tulips are up. It won’t be long!

      Glad you enjoyed the poem, too. Those of us with weather-envy deal with it as best we can!

      Linda

  14. I don’t envy you your winter, or rather lack of it, but I sincerely envy you your skill with words and your creative imagination.

    Grammarian that I am, why can’t I make a poem out of it? All I can do is carp, when others get it wrong.

    1. friko,

      I’m really laughing – I could just as easily turn your statement on its head and say, “I’m no grammarian – no matter how hard I try I can’t learn all the rules. All I can do is make a poem out of it, while I’m mixing up the rights and wrongs of language”.

      I don’t call myself a poet because it’s not my primary – or most comfortable – form of expression. Now and then one shows up, and I feel like some rare creature has gallumphed into the house. I share it, and then go back to daily life. I’m more likely to produce something I call poetic prose, which is found on your site almost without fail – the exception often being when you’ve written a poem.

      Envy’s a tough thing. I went through a period early in this blogging endeavor where I had to beat it back on a regular basis – every time I went to someone else’s blog I was beside myself at my lack of skill, imagination, etc. I finally got tired of it, and said, “I’m just going to do what I do, and if someone shows up, that will be lagniappe, a little extra.”

      And lo – here you are, and that makes me happy. It also makes me happy because it’s a sign you’re feeling better!

      Linda

      1. I have to say that I find your poetic prose a lot more poetic than the mostly prosaic poetry I see so much of these days. (A universe of controversy over verse!)

        As for Friko’s not envying us our lack of winter in Texas, that may be an understandable feeling per se, but then she didn’t have wildflowers beginning in January, increasing in February, and going crazy already in the first half of March.

        1. I confess I’m sometimes a bit – bemused – by what I’m told is good poetry. I’ve always thought that prose speaks, and poetry sings. But that’s just me. I do recognize the vaguely poetic qualities of some of my prose, which is why I began tagging some pieces with “poetry and poem-like things”. I’m hoping to do more of that.

          Speaking of early wildflowers, I noticed today that Godot has put out a first bud. It’s very small, but is about the size of a pencil eraser now. I suspect yours will begin putting on blooms soon, if they haven’t.

          1. It isn’t just you. An awful lot of contemporary “poetry” doesn’t sing to me either.

            Thanks for the cactus tip (he said punningly). I’ll go check the lace cactus in my neighborhood in a few days to see how it’s coming.

  15. Beautiful poem, specially the third line! Spring is here in Scotland, winter has run away, though apparently in some parts of the country it may snow again in the next day or so….

    Juliet
    Crafty Green Poet

    1. Juliet,

      So glad you liked the poem! It was fun to “live in winter” a bit as I wrote and re-wrote. My friend from Wales went off on a bit of traveling to escape winter – I’m not certain if she’s home yet, but I hope she doesn’t come back to what she wanted to escape!

      No worry, I suppose. It’s late enough in the year that any snow should be a fast melt – more nice water for the flowers and trees!

      Linda

  16. I’d be out borrowing a cup of winter, too, except I’m cynical and suspect Ma Nature of waiting till April to really wallop us…But I do love your poem. Thank you.

    1. ds,

      I don’t think that’s cynicism speaking. I think it’s experience. One of the great Iowa expectations always has been the boys’ basketball tournament blizzard in March, and more than a few Easters had a dusting of snow in my younger years. The good news is that Easter snow isn’t going to be around for months.

      So. I’ll borrow my cupful, and we’ll wait and see if the whole five-pound bag gets dumped on your head, while we hope you just get a cupful, too!

      And I’m glad you like the poem – thanks for stopping by!

      Linda

  17. Oh me, oh my! This is beautiful and perfect in every way, Linda. You the wordsmith! (And Gerry’s image brought back longings for the Michigan winters of my youth! To think you borrowed it like a cup of sugar!)

    1. Ginnie,

      Glad you like it! And isn’t the photo wonderful? Those late snows can be wonderfully clingy, as good as frost for decorating everything and making the world shine. If forced, I could easily add a cabin in those woods to my list of preferred dwellings – but it would be a close tie with your lighthouses!

      Linda

    1. Hippie Cahier,

      They never gleamed for me when I was learning about them – but then, nearly everything gleams under a winter moon. I’m glad you like them.

      Linda

  18. Torch Lake is one of my absolute favorite places on earth – those photos make me homesick! I adore winter…I almost want to say it’s my favorite season but then I think about fall and summer and spring and know I could never choose. We barely had winter here in Pittsburgh and I missed it but at this point am just happy to see spring arrive.

    1. Courtney,

      And to think I’d never heard of Torch Lake until I somehow stumbled onto Gerry’s blog. It’s clearly a beautiful place, and quite an intriguing community, with plenty of interesting people.

      Your sorting through the seasons reminds me of a favorite character from my childhood’s television viewing – Princess Summerfall Winterspring from “Howdy Doody”. Perhaps her folks couldn’t decide on just one season when they named her. It is hard to choose. Each season has its own delights – which I suppose is why we miss them when they don’t appear.

      Perhaps you’ll have an especially good spring, to make up for that lack of winter – wouldn’t that be nice?

      Linda

  19. Winter lingers here in Central Washington as it always does until suddenly it’s summer. I will plant cold weather plants (peas, spinach and broccoli) in April and hope we don’t get a hard freeze between then and our last frost that is usually in June. Predictions are for a warm spring, for which I will be deeply grateful.

    1. Martha,

      It still amazes me that the seasons differ so, from one part of the country to another. When I moved to Texas, my “knee high by the 4th of July” self was amazed by the “early” corn harvests here. Sometimes I think we’re more deeply imprinted by our early experiences of seasons and cycles than we realize, and until the day we die, everything else is an abberation of sorts. A last frost in June? I believe you, of course – it just seems somehow “wrong”.

      I hope your weather cooperates for your garden. I’ve followed a blogger in Toledo who spent the winter snuggled up with her seed catalogues – that planting urge can be a strong one.

      Linda

    1. Steve,

      It’s funny – I carried the line about cattle being punctuation marks with me from childhood. I first thought of it on a drive home from Grandma’s.

      As for sentient sentences, I can’t help myself. All I can think of are SXSW’s walking wifi hotspots – looking at their watches and saying, “Darn. Just two more hours and I can get out of here.”
      Obviously, the move to keep Austin weird isn’t losing one bit of steam. ;)

      Linda

  20. Beautiful poem! Wonderful imagery! Thank you for sharing…

    In our country we don’t have winter (ours is a country with tropical weather, having only 2 seasons: dry & wet), but I find it fascinating. Just realized: because winter is a sort of promise of better things ahead – a sign of hope. After winter comes spring. To put it in religious terms, after the crucifixion comes the resurrection…

    ~ Matt

    1. Matt,

      When I lived in Liberia, we had the same seasonal arrangement – (very) wet and dry, with a slightly stormy month separating them. It was different, and took some getting used to.

      You’re right about the experience of spring as a kind of resurrection. Much of the Biblical imagery comes alive in a new way when you’re watching the first flowers push up through snow, And we tried our best to imitate the flowers – Easter dresses always were pretty, pastel colors, and if we were lucky, we didn’t even have to wear a sweater!

      Linda

  21. What a beautiful photo. Maybe we’ll get a little more winter next year. It snowed here last week, but it was in the eighties today. I made potato salad and baked beans. We broke out the grill and threw some hotdogs on it and lounged around on the deck. It was beautiful out there. I do love winter and was happy to see one more snow before H had to mow the grass… which he did today. Smells so sweet.

    1. Bella,

      I was astonished the first time I smelled fresh-cut grass this year. It had been so long – during the worst of the drought, even if someone cut it, there was none of that fresh, sweet scent. It was like cutting straw.

      Isn’t it funny how there are summer foods and winter foods? Reading about your potato salad and baked beans, I realized I never did a single pot roast this winter. I keep putting that off – along with my favorite stews and such – waiting for cold weather. It never came. I didn’t even do the mince pie, and now it’s time for lemon chiffon!

      Ah, well. We might as well just relax and enjoy spring. Soon enough it’ll be full-out summer, with its unbearable heat. And you know how I love to grump about that!

      Linda

  22. Winter fell short in most areas this year, but at least we had one.

    Your poem is exquisite. I read it several times in a row. You are a wonderful wordsmith no doubt!

    Thank you. I loved, loved this poem.

    1. WildBill,

      I’ve been reading your latest post on winter, too – I think there’s been a little more nostalgia for the lovely cold than usual this year.
      But, as you say – at least there was some.

      Thanks so much for the kind words. It’s always a joy for me when one of these bits of verse shows up, and it thrills me when it resonates with someone else.

      Linda

  23. Beautiful post, poem, photo…all of it. We’ve hit a true spring here in Minnesota, and although I’m thankful for that, I admit I did miss a deep winter. Thanks for sharing, Linda, and glad to be reading along.

    1. Emily,

      I just read of the “heat wave” that will be affecting the middle of the country this weekend. I hope you’re spared severe weather, as winter and summer collide.

      I’ve had a first reading of your current post, and really enjoyed being reminded of how vocal ice can be. Perhaps winter complains, too, when spring comes calling early!

      I’m so pleased you stopped by – thank you for that, and for the kind comment.

      Linda

  24. Shore,
    I almost missed this one but because I get your updates on my email I got to it this morning!
    Your way to “borrow winter” would be just fine by me; go someplace that has winter and pay a visit and enjoy. Then come back home to warm temps and sunshine!
    But we all know, I am a summer girl!
    Beautiful Poem!!!
    Patti

    1. Patti,

      That’s why Texas (and Florida, too?) has so many “snowbirds”. There are plenty of folks who want to have their winter in tiny doses. I’ve known people who share Thanksgiving with their kids in Iowa, Minnesota and so on, and then head south, not stopping until they find 70 degrees.

      Or, going the other direction, there are the Texans who go skiing over a holiday, and then beat it back home.

      Now and then I think about moving back north – and then I remember what it’s really like. If I were 30 I might. Even 40. But heading north to retire isn’t reasonable. Life at 70 or 80 is tough enough without having to thaw frozen door locks!

      Glad you liked the poem!

      Linda

  25. I agree with Emily: “beautiful post, poem, and picture”.

    I love your plan of borrowing a cup of winter from a neighbor. A cup full is more than enough for me. I prefer warm weather that’s why I live in CA.
    I can knock on the door cup of hand of my two next door neighbors. I’m really fortunate.

    love the lines…

    “Winter speaks in passive voice,
    conjugates brief slants of light…”

    1. Rosie,

      Thanks so much – glad you enjoyed it. And isn’t it wonderful to have neighbors like that? I ran as hard and fast from small town ilfe when I was in my 20s. Now? I’d move back in a minute if I could!

      And yes – a cupful of winter is enough for me, too. But I do wish I’d gotten that cupful this year!

      Linda

  26. Dear Linda, it is nice to be back to you. I have missed so much of your writings over the past months.Winter did not speak in such a passive voice over here, in the Alps. Storms were harsh and it felt freezing like I remember my Russian Winters. North wind, avalanches, icy roads and mountain tracks as I love them : barely visible under heavy snow; a Winter of years ago. Lots of cups of Winter, of course.

    Today there is hardly any snow left but Spring is in the air. Birds are announcing it joyfully and loudly. Days are longer and warmer and the first “tussilages” (coltsfoots ?) are brightening up the side of the paths I walked on today. The first glimpse of colour in the dry grass. I love the return of Spring, the renewal of Nature, the cycle of real Seasons that give a rhythm to one’s life.

    Thanks for the lovely poem and the images they created.

    1. Isabelle,

      What a pleasure to have you visit! I trust you’re doing well, and enjoying the pleasures of home to the fullest.

      As a child, I experienced blizzards, and certain aspects of the “real” winters of which you speak, but never anything so splendid as a Russian Winter. One year, a drift did sweep its way up one side of my grandparents’ home all the way to the roofline. We were astonished! When I first saw the film “Dr. Zhivago”, I was entranced, and wanted so much to spend a winter like that. Now, I’m not so enthusiastic.

      Your “tussilages” intrigue me. We have a phrase, “tussy-mussy”, that refers to a small bouquet of flowers carried in a silver or other holder, usually for weddings. In times past, they were carried for other reasons and occasions. In any event, I did a very quick search and discovered the word “tusse” once referred to a collection of very small flowers. I suspect the two are related, linguistically at least.

      Like you, I enjoy the turning of the seasons, and the changes they bring. Enjoy the lengthening days in good health!

      Linda

      1. Thanks for your words, dear Linda. I also loved the film “Dr. Jivago”. I think the landscapes were either Finnish or Canadian (impossible to make such a film in the Soviet Union at that time) but the Russian mood was there all the same. Remember this “frosted datcha-house” in a vast plain of the Ural ? And the immense daffodils fields in Spring ? I never forgot such images. As well as the real birchtree forests where I went cross-country skiing years ago.
        Here is a link about these small Spring flowers “tussilage” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tussilago_farfara
        My grandmother and mother used them against coughing (herbal tea). Very efficent.
        Have a pleasant end of the week !

        1. Isa,

          Oh, yes – those images were unforgettable. It was only in the past year that I realized so many of my most cherished films had the same Director – David Lean. And the cinematography was breathtaking.

          My most beautiful winter experience took place in Germany’s Black Forest. I was able to spend some days with a family there. They lived in a traditional home with the cattle below, and while I was there a deep, quiet snow came. It was so beautiful.

          So many of the traditional remedies are so useful, and I think safer for us, too. But knowing what we’re plucking is critical!

          Linda

  27. A beautiful treatment of the photo, Linda, and a wonderful poem. I particularly love the opening line. All the best from a warm hotel room in Cusco, where the forecast is for tonight is for a low of 6 degrees C.

    1. Andrew,

      I’m so pleased you like the photo – I thought it especially lovely and was so happy Gerry allowed me to use it. I’m fond of the poem myself – words and images don’t have to compete!

      Enjoy that cool weather – i finally gave up and turned on the air conditioning!

      Linda

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s