More thoughts in the time of COVID-19 …
The catalpa is bare. Only dry pods left there.
The birches are golden and are great indicators of whether the breeze is at ground level or up high since even a slight air movement sets them dancing.
The scarlet carpet under the maple is nearly complete. I am gathering and pressing leaves for memory.
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My Hallowe’en was quiet. It’s been that way ever since we moved out here. The boys used to make the rounds in town where there were streets full of houses. And there was a costume parade down Mt Shasta Boulevard of little school (elementary) kids, parents, and teachers every year. Not this year. No parade. No neighborhood walkthroughs. Instead locals closed off main streets in several towns and folks reserved spaces to park vehicles with their trunks open and full of treats. Sort of a substitute parade and trick-or-treat combined.
Before we moved here, we lived in a development in San Fernando Valley and George did up Hallowe’en in style. I remember the year we draped spider webs all over the doorbell area where we also had an intercom. Then George stood to the side, in dark rags, holding up a scarecrow figure made of bent wires (hard to describe but he was an artist). A dad came down the street accompanied by a wee pink bunny. The bunny got up courage enough to reach under the web and ring the doorbell. I answered from inside the house in my best witchy voice “Ooooh. What a cuddly bunny. Welcome.” and, as the bunny said “Trick or treat”, George moaned and shook the scarecrow. Since it was just twisted wire draped in old clothes, it swayed and shivered. The poor little bunny screamed, wet its pants, and went running down the walk toward the street where dad had been waiting, holding a martini glass. At the scream, Dad dropped his glass and went running down the street with the bunny racing behind.
We hadn’t recognized them as part of our immediate neighborhood so we were never able to apologize, but it became a Hallowe’en we never forgot. I’ll bet the dad hasn’t either.
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The hens are still in molt. One day last week we got only two eggs. I threaten them, telling them they are no longer earning their keep. I hope they are listening.
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I’ve had a busy few days via books. Did a lot of traveling … East bank of the Nile between Memphis and Thebes, late 15th century BCE … London, early 1920s … Bethel, the year of the Witching … Chaco, late 1990s …
One place I went could almost be here and now …
“I live in a land where malignity rules, where fear and shame dwell. I see botched and corrupted lives, failed hopes, broken dreams, murders and mutilations. Injustices committed with authority. I see people with no souls doing the worse possible things to people with no power. For what? For nothing more than riches and power. There is no honour and no dignity in such things.” (Nick Drake)
And then I remembered being a teenager, writing a senior class assigned essay which I titled “Lidice, never again”, believing nothing like that could ever happen here.
I now await the result of yesterday’s voting.
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When I get up to dress each morning, I go into my closet where I have a chair on which I sit while putting on stockings etc. It is under a small window facing east. I’m used to looking out that window and seeing the morning star between some pines. Since the time change, I no longer see it. It is now behind the southern tree by the time I am getting dressed. I dislike time changing. If I had my way, we’d pick one or the other and stick with it all year like Hawai’i and Arizona do.
That led me to the general topic of seeing stars and I realized that the sky here has changed quite a bit over the time I’ve lived here. When we first moved out here, the sky was dark (except at full Moon time) and we could see lots of stars and planets. Gradually, that has changed.
The sky is now light blue-grey even on dark Moon nights, I no longer see a sky full of stars. I still see the bright planets and some of the brighter stars, but the glory spread is gone … lost to light pollution, even this far out in the woods. The small towns of Mt Shasta and Weed have increased their night lighting tenfold. Even way out here, new folks are keeping outdoor lights on all night. Afraid of bears and others, both animal and human, I guess.
During past summers, the grandchildren and I used to spend a night or two out in the meadow in the back of the pick-up just looking at the sky, especially during meteor falls. We’d snuggle under quilts with the guard dog at our feet. That is no longer an option.
I can still see Ursa and Orion and Cassiopia, but tracking other constellations is getting difficult.
Oh well …
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With the world as it is, I remind myself …
Nothing is too difficult to overcome. You’ve survived so many hardships and moments that pushed you to your limits. Instead of giving up, you survived and came out stronger. You can do that again. Keep believing. Keep going.
So … ‘til next week …