Points of light

We're moving into the second week of colder, wetter weather. Each valley rain storm brings snow further down the mountains.

Because our ever-expanding suburbs are located in a desert and we essentially skipped winter last year, this is exactly the kind of weather good Utah members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints* pray for.

Peculiarly, since we don't care whether it comes as rain or snow, we pray for "moisture."

Selfishly, I don't.

Dark weather and heavy clouds depress me almost instantly. Add to that the extra ache that comes from cold and changing barometric pressure and I become slow, sad, and mostly housebound. That's a hard place to be optimistic from. As Husband is frantically job hunting and we're awaiting my disability ruling, it would be better if I could be a ray of sunshine instead of a miserable lump.

It is during these gloomy times that Daddy Bush's fairly dark vision of "a thousand points of light" actually appeals to me. There are always points of light available to help..

Monday night was filled with actual points of light.

 The first was my dad's bonfire. When tree trimmings build up and it's windy enough that burning is permitted, Dad will start a fire in the fire pit. He tends to sit there alone for a couple hours just watching. As my dark weather blues were inherited from Dad's side of the family, I don't know if that is a healthy habit or not.

Anyway, Husband and I didn't get out to walk until late. Drawn by the fire, we walked over to visit. But Dad's yard is a mix of orchard and forest that is challenging to navigate in daylight. In the dark, focused on the firelight,  I struggled to find my way. Just recovering from being stabbed in the ear by a branch, I caught my foot on a rope anchoring one of the fruit trees and landed on my face.

My face is fine. The lawn is soft. I do have a nice souvenir on my leg to remind me that my iPhone doesn't only have a step-counter, but also a flashlight.

After the fire died down and Dad went indoors, we crossed the street for three laps in the park. The clouds had temporarily rained themselves out, so the stars and planets were visible. Mars and Saturn look lonely now that Venus and Jupiter have moved out of view.

But there were shooting stars everywhere. We saw more than a dozen during our 45 minute walk. It was the peak of the Draconid Meteor shower. We had no idea beforehand--an unexpected gift of much needed light.

Sadly, not my picture, or my view. Must get to saguaro country sometime soon.

Another gift in the form of enlightenment came in my email. 7 Things to Do When You're Mostly Housebound Due to Illness by Toni Bernhard. I find her writing very helpful when my illness insists on being paid attention to. I will try to apply some of her wisdom to pull myself into a better spirit. 

Already she has me appreciating my large office window. I've rebooted the bird feeders for the season, and I'm considering some downstairs house plants. The geraniums on the front porch are now vulnerable to freezing, so Youngest may be doing some heavy lifting to bring them into my lair.

* This weekend, our prophet asked us to stop calling ourselves Mormons or LDS. He gave the very good reason that we are supposed to be focused on Jesus Christ. I am trying to cooperate, but it sure gets wordy.

THE PODCAST is a funeral poem for summer, so it didn't really help with my mood, other than it did get written this week, which helps. Writing and publishing still gives me a greater sense of accomplishment than dishes and laundry,

The first image in this week's poem is a gentian, which I've only seen once as a wildflower. For Emily it's clearly a sign of fall, but it's not very common around here. I'm not sure if Dickinson is referencing a wild or garden flower, so I've found pictures of both.

Look at the last stanza of the poem. I don't know what to think about it. Clearly cheeky, likely sacrilegious. Emily had the advantage as a writer of never planning to publish, so she didn't have to worry about offending anyone.

Here is the poem:

The Gentian weaves her fringes—

The Maple’s loom is red—

My departing blossoms

Obviate parade.

A brief, but patient illness—

An hour to prepare,

And one below this morning

Is where the angels are—

It was a short procession,

The Bobolink was there—

An aged Bee addressed us—

And then we knelt in prayer—

We trust that she was willing—

We ask that we may be.

Summer—Sister—Seraph!

Let us go with thee!

In the name of the Bee—

And of the Butterfly—

And of the Breeze—Amen!

THE KNITTING is a second baby set, this time in cheap fluorescent yarn I found in the bottom of my cupboard.

There's a blanket too, which is almost finished, but not quite because knitting blankets gets boring.
The whole set will soon be in my shop.

I also finished a hat out of a blend of leftover yarns that include silk, alpaca, Morino, and linen. I like it and it's in my color, so I'm keeping it. Too bad there aren't enough leftovers in this color for matching mittens. Starlit walks are starting to get chilly.