Stellar

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As much as I long for the city sometimes, country nights like tonight fill me with awe. Cold – frozen in fact – but so clear, all the stars visible. I spent an hour in the darkness sitting on the deck upstairs just staring into the sky, view obscured occasionally by my breath visibly floating through the air.

A few years ago, ML “gave” me an app for identifying constellations, so for basically the first time in all those years, I used it, halfheartedly. I am always a bit awestruck by the cosmos and my tiny place in this universe. Particularly when it’s so cold, I feel so small and insignificant. The awesome nature of being enveloped by this endless expanse of stars renders all of life’s trivialities insignificant as well; you know, when you’re trapped in your own head, listing off all the things you need to do, all the things you don’t want to deal with, think about, feel – it all retreats to some other place in the brain – a place far from immediate thought and anxiety.

A poem for post-star-gazing contemplation:

TactEdwin Arlington Robinson

Observant of the way she told
So much of what was true,
No vanity could long withhold
Regard that was her due:
She spared him the familiar guile,
So easily achieved,
That only made a man to smile
And left him undeceived.

Aware that all imagining
Of more than what she meant
Would urge an end of everything,
He stayed; and when he went,
They parted with a merry word
That was to him as light
As any that was ever heard
Upon a starry night.

She smiled a little, knowing well
That he would not remark
The ruins of a day that fell
Around her in the dark:
He saw no ruins anywhere,
Nor fancied there were scars
On anyone who lingered there,
Alone below the stars.

Perhaps I have been brainwashed by my descent into the nature-oriented New Agey books I just completed (hallelujah), which seemed to emphasize the importance of a relationship with nature and the universe as key to our ability to mature as adults. Maybe there’s something to it. But I know I’ve always felt this way when walking or sitting in the dark on clear, cold, starry nights. Infinitesimal but brimming with excitement, wonder and hope.

Photo (c) 2014 Tom Hall.

Chilly

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Sometimes you just don’t have the words. What someone tells you and expects you to respond to is just so far outside the norm or what you can fathom in reality that you can’t respond. You can only shake your head and wonder how things spiral and descend to such a depth. I am rarely stuck for words, but I am right now.

Or perhaps I am stunned out of words by the arctic chill of the interior of my house. The previous winters, the house was kept cozy and warm but the underfloor heating has been malfunctioning repeatedly this year. It’s just too cold in this place to live with this. I’ve danced and jumped and run around the house all evening to keep the cold at bay; now I am making hot water bottles, piling on the blankets and plugging in a space heater to make tonight comfortable. It may be time to look at some other solution while waiting yet again for a fix.

And to end and hopefully sleep, I listen to Glasgow’s Bubblegum Lemonade & read some very old French poetry.

Souvenir
Marceline Desbordes-Valmore

Quand il pâlit un soir, que sa voix tremblante
S’eteignit tout à coup dans un mot commencé;
Quand ses yeux, soulevant leur paupière brûlante,
Me blessèrent d’un mal dont je le crus blessé;
Quand ses traits plus touchants, éclairés d’une flamme
Qui ne s’éteint jamais,
S’imprimèrent vivants dans le fond de mon âme;
Il n’aimait pas: j’aimais!

Roadkill: It’s for the birds

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Not since the film The Birds have birds quite disturbed me in the way they did this morning.

While driving along, scanning the roadsides, shrubbery and forest areas for large animals, like moose, a giant bird flew quite low and crashed directly into the grill of my car. Later when I hopped out to assess the situation, I was treated to a gruesome scene of bird innards and feathers twisted around part of the grill. I had to use the handle of a small dustpan-broom to pry the carcass out and fling it into the parking lot.

Not long after, some other kinds of birds sailed in, started squawking with proprietary intent and began feasting.

cannibal birds eat roadkill bird

Cannibalism is for the birds

Soundtrack, naturally, is Pulp – “Roadkill”

Elk are left trying to make sense of what has happened…

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One of my favorite things about living in rural Sweden is being able to see the moose/elk all the time. If I go outside in the middle of the night, which I do at least once a week, I am almost guaranteed to see at least one. Many people who have lived in cities and have not spent a lot of time roaming the countryside tell me that they have maybe seen a moose once or twice in their entire lives. This always makes me feel lucky that I see them all the time.