worth
By nine o'clock at night it's cold out - not the laughing sunny-afternoon cold of scurrying, coatless, the short distance from warm office to warm student center, but serious zero-degree cold. In the library, I pull up my socks over the hems of my long underwear; relace my boots; wrap my scarf around my neck and chin, make sure there's no gap between it and my collar in back, and overlap the ends in front; zip up my quilted down coat; hook my headphones on; settle the bottom edge of my hat firmly below my earlobes; hit "play"; and pull on my gloves.
the cold here is one of the properties of the elements
the cold here is one of those I wish not to defend
Outside, a few of the paths are a salty, muddy mess, but most are simply whisked clean. After a week or more, the snow off the paths is still white and thick, less powdery now, more settled, but still glittering rather than wet. Off campus, away from the college's miniature brush-and-plow vehicles, the town sidewalks are covered with tamped-down snow. The temperature's stayed far enough below freezing that there's no ice, because there's been no thaw. My ears are full of music, but I can feel the way the snow sounds under my boots, that clean, gritty crunch that's like nothing else.
don't wait in the last light and the warmth of the winter sun
don't get caught out with the temperature going down
The sky here is darker than anywhere I've ever lived, though I don't always notice. It doesn't feel dark, especially in the snow. Fourth Street's all lit up: porchlights illuminating door wreaths, candles glowing in windows, Christmas trees glittering behind thin curtains. The streetlamps are yellower, but still more cheerful than not. It's just that when I look up, the light stops at the top of the lamps. No orange haze in the sky, no city glare; just the crescent moon lying on its back, gleaming faintly behind a cloud, hanging in front of me until I turn towards home, hovering over my left shoulder as I head down the hill. Behind the old school, the empty practice field glows a little and the tops of the tallest pine trees are lost in darkness.
don't try to defy the properties of your decisions
I came to this place for many reasons, and tonight has turned out to be one of them. The student said So you mean I need to explain more about what I think instead of just what the book says? and I said yes. The snow says It's a cold dark night and you walked instead of driving? and the crunch of my boots on snow says yes. The moon says Are you sure you know what you're doing? and, okay, maybe not, not really; but right now, at this moment, the catch in my breath is saying yes.
the year ends in december
so why even bother
It's been a long day, and a long semester, and - come to think of it - a long year. It's been a long time since I did so much changing in one twelvemonth, since I pulled up so many roots and shoved them down into such unfamiliar ground. Part of me hasn't stopped moving, and part of me maybe never started, and part of me wants to settle down and get on with things, and part of me would really rather disappear under the down comforter and sleep until, I don't know, March? April? Just wake me when the geese come calling, when the mud and crocuses come up, when the lost mitten reappears in the last melting snow at the edge of the porch.
No, don't. Don't. Don't let me miss any of this. When the real snow hits next month, this hill's going to be perfect for sledding.
I want the worth of every day there is to fill
I'm standing at the bottom of the hill, fumbling with my left glove. I'm two blocks from home, from warm cats and hot cider and peppermint soap and flannel pajamas. It's all waiting. I'm in no hurry.
the cold here is one of the properties of the elements
the cold here is one of those I wish not to defend
Outside, a few of the paths are a salty, muddy mess, but most are simply whisked clean. After a week or more, the snow off the paths is still white and thick, less powdery now, more settled, but still glittering rather than wet. Off campus, away from the college's miniature brush-and-plow vehicles, the town sidewalks are covered with tamped-down snow. The temperature's stayed far enough below freezing that there's no ice, because there's been no thaw. My ears are full of music, but I can feel the way the snow sounds under my boots, that clean, gritty crunch that's like nothing else.
don't wait in the last light and the warmth of the winter sun
don't get caught out with the temperature going down
The sky here is darker than anywhere I've ever lived, though I don't always notice. It doesn't feel dark, especially in the snow. Fourth Street's all lit up: porchlights illuminating door wreaths, candles glowing in windows, Christmas trees glittering behind thin curtains. The streetlamps are yellower, but still more cheerful than not. It's just that when I look up, the light stops at the top of the lamps. No orange haze in the sky, no city glare; just the crescent moon lying on its back, gleaming faintly behind a cloud, hanging in front of me until I turn towards home, hovering over my left shoulder as I head down the hill. Behind the old school, the empty practice field glows a little and the tops of the tallest pine trees are lost in darkness.
don't try to defy the properties of your decisions
I came to this place for many reasons, and tonight has turned out to be one of them. The student said So you mean I need to explain more about what I think instead of just what the book says? and I said yes. The snow says It's a cold dark night and you walked instead of driving? and the crunch of my boots on snow says yes. The moon says Are you sure you know what you're doing? and, okay, maybe not, not really; but right now, at this moment, the catch in my breath is saying yes.
the year ends in december
so why even bother
It's been a long day, and a long semester, and - come to think of it - a long year. It's been a long time since I did so much changing in one twelvemonth, since I pulled up so many roots and shoved them down into such unfamiliar ground. Part of me hasn't stopped moving, and part of me maybe never started, and part of me wants to settle down and get on with things, and part of me would really rather disappear under the down comforter and sleep until, I don't know, March? April? Just wake me when the geese come calling, when the mud and crocuses come up, when the lost mitten reappears in the last melting snow at the edge of the porch.
No, don't. Don't. Don't let me miss any of this. When the real snow hits next month, this hill's going to be perfect for sledding.
I want the worth of every day there is to fill
I'm standing at the bottom of the hill, fumbling with my left glove. I'm two blocks from home, from warm cats and hot cider and peppermint soap and flannel pajamas. It's all waiting. I'm in no hurry.