The Sun Came Out

The pines and birches, bent almost double here by the weight of ice, are standing straight and unscathed as I write this. Nature springs back.


Chet, on his way out the oil road to check our well.

Waiting, waiting for the sun to come out, knowing that it was going to be spectacular. I hung up on someone who had kindly called to see how we were faring once when the sun peeked through and the weeping willow, caked in ice, burst into diamond flame. I hope she understood. I had to go see that.

There was no power as yet, but the gas well was sending us some love, about 23 psi of love. You want to see upwards of 40 psi at the wellhead, but we'll take it. Hey, nice hat.


The orchard was just ridiculous with the sun coming through the ice and snow in the afternoon.


I made about a yard of progress every five minutes, with the sun and the snow and the intricate beauty hollering and whooping all around me.

Bill skiied cross country while I tried to save the snow and ice, lock it up in electrons and digital folders before it melted.


A twin arch for rabbits to pass beneath.


Multiflora rose, its hips locked up where even the birds couldn't get them. It was a beautiful but hungry sight.


Liriodendron flowers, each a goblet of snow.


In concert, they were a ballet corps, little hands offering divinity. Here, here, here, take this.

Driveway Mandala

Some ice patterns in the driveway caught my breath. It was as if Peter Max and an ancient Aztec sculptor stopped by on their way to Eternity, and left me a message.
Yes, Peter, I see it, and it's beautiful, but what does it say?
Maybe it doesn't have to say anything. But my poor pop-art addled brain kept seeing a Blue Meanie.
These babies were big, and I had brought only my long telephoto lens (duh), so I had to shoot them at a distance and at an angle. But I'm glad I had a camera with me, because they'll never be repeated in just this way on any other day. I'm still getting a Peter Max feeling from these, a yellow submarine chugging along, puffing out white smoke.

While the first three defied description, this one grabbed me by the arm. You could see it carved on a Aztec stela, protruding from jungle vegetation: a jaguar shaman, kneeling in prayer, or preparing to spring.
Just a little driveway mandala, all the more beautiful for its impermanence.

We're on our weary way home from Nebraska today. More nodding, bolt upright and folded into airplane seats. Now I'm glad my blog elf slept on the job last week...I won't have to dream anything up for a couple more days. Bill and I are in a land somewhere in the mists beyond exhaustion. But our sweet kids and millions of Baker kisses await.