Rambling thoughts for a winter's night

When I walk home after sunset, I think I know what it's like to be a horse

or some such day-creature whose eyes alone do not reign over sight

in quite the way we fancy ours do

and who shies at shadows.

The telltale colors cloaking each form are quieter here

they require much sharper scrutiny 

than in the waking world.

I stop on the sidewalk for no reason

refuse to go on when the way is clear

because there is a strange shine on the stone

and I cannot tell if it is wet, slick, set, soft

for a moment I fear it will suck me in, pull me down

if I do not tread with care

but of course it is solid, only made of shinier stuff

than the square on which I stand.

I pause to admire the way the shadows cross

the darkest absorbing all that passes

but light darkening lighter, when they meet

neither blending with the other

all crisply informing with plain pictures

whether something lurks to the sides.

For several seconds I stop and stare

puzzling over the leaves that are not leaves

too much black and white and order

in the chaos crunching underfoot

I step carefully around the spot, unwilling to touch

unsure why, until the shapes resolve

a fallen sparrow in the fallen leaves

I try to make my silence a little more silent

out of respect for the dead.

I walk on, wanting to be home now

out of the wind, on familiar ground

not always glancing over my shoulder

when a low-flying leaf scampers by my side.

Street lights, headlights, Christmas lights 

all  are loathsome here

striking me briefly blind when I look away.

I watch a man and a white dog by the curb

suspicious, for they never move

they still don't move, so still I watch

I draw near and with one blink they are gone

or rather transformed,

boxes on boxes and three white trash bags

still unmoving and unmoved by my mistake.

Something small slithers after me

block after block, unrelenting

I turn to frighten the thing

which is the sneaking strap of the pack I carry

swung carelessly by my side

skittering along the sidewalk in my wake

I walk on.

This block smells of smoke

evil stuff, but I breathe deep to taste the ingredients

melting plastic, burning bark, smoldering leaves?

enough to make me hesitate in the haze

look and listen around just for a moment

hoping this fire is supposed to be

before making my hasty escape.

I rest a moment, blow out my breath

just to see the smoke

the kind that doesn't burn to breathe.

This block smells of apples

I do not know why this would be

have no clue which chemicals contribute 

but it is nice.

I do not linger here though

indeed, I have never walked more swiftly tonight

because I know this street

I know these trees

I know the way
I am close to home, and I have walked long enough

I forget the load I carry

and break into a trot.

The gods of winter wildlife are smiling....

...though I suppose most deities pertaining to the wee beasties of the field are ladies. Wouldn't have it any other way.

Yesterday was just one of those days when the animals come out to play.
First off, I had to go back upstairs to get the camera before heading out to Staples. Almost didn't, but I hate leaving home without. Was pretty sure the batteries were good, didn't bother packing spares.
At 10 AM on that surreal, snowy Saturday I could be found (of course) racing sneakily over to the trash heap (okay, just a big Dumpster, but it had a white wall running round it like it wasn't fit to see) behind Staples to spook the crows into flight.
This was when I discovered my camera was almost out of battery. Whoops.
There were dozens of crows, though, gobbling their frozen food, and I determined to go till either the batteries quit or the birds got wise and hid from me.
Well, the batteries didn't quit.
I did manage some fairly nice silhouettes for a t-shirt and a surprisingly black-and-white color photo:

Next order of business was presumably "go home."
But there were these icicles on all the lamps in the park....
Slight detour had me merrily wallowing through knee-deep drifts in a quest for lamps. Something caught my eye as I was making my way past the pines, though, and I ended up in a half-hour photoshoot with this gorgeous (if rather grumpy) redhead, who swore and cussed at me while dumping snow on my head:

That's when I realized my camera was almost out of memory. Whoops.
Perhaps you take better pictures when you know you're going to have to delete something to take the next one?
Mercifully, impressively, she didn't move from that branch the whole time - not frightened, just disapproving. Finally, she tired of my own incessant chatter, washed her face up a bit (a pity, because squirrels with snow in their ears are cuter than babies), and waddled gracefully off to the next tree.

I hear the crows out there now, and I really want to go out and chase them.
I've had dreams that consist solely of taking pictures of crows.
What's up with that?
Anyway, enjoy your winter, enjoy your holidays, enjoy the little critters who are nice enough to share them with you.
Until next time,
~Em