Fire in the Snow 2024

 

 

When cold blows in from Canada, pushed up by warm wind from Texas, snow happens suddenly and furiously.  Only older siblings, big enough to sink only to the knee and then leap into the snow face first, could rejoice.

For two small children, enjoyment was peering out through icy panes and wishing.  Mom…Mom…Mom…Can we go outside, too?  Mom? Mom?  Mom relented only when Mom became unbearable.

Two and four years old, Mary and Bill were wrapped, bundled, booted, and mittened, then given instructions:  Stay on the porch.  Both nodded solemnly.

Mom stood at the kitchen door, staring through the lacy ice crystals at five children enjoying the snow.  Then Bill launched off the porch into deep white sea. Bill, she sighed. 

Stomping out the door, Mom grabbed him by scruff of his coat and pulled him up.  Then Mary whispered, “Mommy!  Mommy!  Look!  Fire in trees!  Fire in snow!”

Fire in the trees?  In the snow?  She beheld glorious cardinals perched in bare trees.  Fiery cardinals with black masks.  Brave cardinals in frigid air.

 

Mom hollered, “You kids get in here.  Been out long enough!”  But she continued to watch until fire became scarlet birds winging over snowy horizons.  

For those bloggers in the beginning of a long winter, this story is about the snow of 1958, which has been called the mini-ice age.  Keep warm, enjoy the beauty as much as you are able, and Merry Christmas.This is a repost of 2014 and 2021.

 

 

Snow and Fire

 

When cold blows in from Canada, pushed up by warm wind from Texas, snow happens suddenly and furiously.  Only older siblings, big enough to sink only to the knee and then leap into the snow face first, could rejoice.

For two small children, enjoyment was peering out through icy panes and wishing.  Mom…Mom…Mom…Can we go outside, too?  Mom? Mom?  Mom relented only when Mom became unbearable.

Two and four years old, Mary and Bill were wrapped, bundled, booted, and mittened, then given instructions:  Stay on the porch.  Both nodded solemnly.

Mom stood at the kitchen door, staring through the lacy ice crystals at five children enjoying the snow.  Then Bill launched off the porch into deep white sea. Bill, she sighed. 

Stomping out the door, Mom grabbed him by scruff of his coat and pulled him up.  Then Mary whispered, “Mommy!  Mommy!  Look!  Fire in trees!  Fire in snow!”

Fire in the trees?  In the snow?  She beheld glorious cardinals perched in bare trees.  Fiery cardinals with black masks.  Brave cardinals in frigid air.

Fire in the Trees

Mom hollered, “You kids get in here.  Been out long enough!”  But she continued to watch until fire became scarlet birds winging over snowy horizons.  

For those bloggers in the beginning of a long winter, this story is about the snow of 1958, which has been called the mini-ice age.  Keep warm, enjoy the beauty as much as you are able, and Merry Christmas.This is a repost of 2014 and 2021.

 

 

Singing in the Dead of Night

 

                                             Red winged blackbird. Always enjoyed seeing

                                            a pond of trees loaded these red wing blackbirds was                                                                                         breathtaking.

There just a few animals as beautiful as a bird. Doesn't matter its genus and species, birds are exquisite creatures. My favorite is and will always be cardinals, ones of all types. But another has impressed me: the crow/raven/blackbird. I had enough difficulty to tell you the differences, which is why I placed the photos below. Also, cut me some slack on interchanging the species in my brain.

The raven and his cousin the black crow are some of the smartest birds there.are. I have watched them, and they are incredible. 

One late afternoon, I stood watched this one huge black bird perched on a street light, over a splattered pile of bird poo below. He turned his head to one side to the other, eyes never breaking away from me.  

He kept watching me, and then began to send messages to his horde of crows densely settled in a huge eucalyptus. He (Bill as I named him) talked back to them, and then Bill resumed his watch, eyes checking one side to another.  I stepped out my door, and Bill began his singing to the Murder of crows 1 mile away.  They sang back.

Incredible birds. They bond and maintain a life long relationship with a mate in his Conspiracy of his crew up in the trees. In fact, the crew bonds with each other.  Bill did not like me at my door, so Bill sang a raucous song, glaring at me. The songs went back and forth.  Bill got tired of me invading his territory, so he winged it over to the roof across the street.

Enough. Exam the photos below. See what they are.

 

  

 Tower of London employee rescued "tame" ravens

Is raising them and hoping that they will see this as their home, not

needing wings cut back

                         Being "mobbed" usually results in the hunted owl being driven away

.

 

 

 

Murder? Conspiracy? Horde?

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

One of my favorite bloggers is David Gascoigne in Travels with Birds from Waterloo, Canada. He discovers some incredible birds, enjoys walk-about with fellow birders. He has recommended bird books, with info and crazily beautiful feathered creatures of the sky.  David often brings a delightful little girl, birder in training. Lucky little birder!

 

Fire in the Trees

 

When cold blows in from 

Canada, pushed up by warm wind from Texas, snow happens suddenly and furiously.  Only older siblings, big enough to sink only to the knee and then leap into the snow face first, could rejoice

                                                     

For two small children, enjoyment was peering out through icy panes and wishing.  Mom…Mom…Mom…Can we go outside, too?  Mom? Mom?  Mom relented only when Mom became unbearable.

Two and four years old, Mary and Bill were wrapped, bundled, booted, and mitten-ed, then given instructions:  Stay on the porch.  Both nodded solemnly.

Mom stood at the kitchen door, staring through the lacy ice crystals at five children enjoying the snow.  Then Bill launched off the porch into deep white sea. Bill, she sighed. 

Stomping out the door, Mom grabbed him by scruff of his coat and pulled him up.  Then Mary whispered, “Mommy!  Mommy!  Look!  Fire in trees!  Fire in snow!”

Fire in the trees?  In the snow?  She beheld glorious cardinals perched in bare trees.  Fiery cardinals with black masks.  Brave cardinals in frigid air. Oh,my! So, so,....

Mom hollered, “You kids get in here.  Been out long enough!”  But she continued to watch until fire became scarlet birds winging over snowy horizons.  

Fire in the Trees
For those bloggers in the beginning of a long winter, this story is about the snow of 1958, which has been called the mini-ice age. This time was our first time on the farm in a very old house.  This post was from December 8, 2014.  Keep warm, enjoy the beauty as much as you are able, and Merry Christmas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fire in the Trees

How to survive a Maine winter
We lived in Illinois, thankfully.

When cold blows in from Canada, pushed up by warm wind from Texas, snow happens suddenly and furiously.  Only older siblings, big enough to sink only to the knee and then leap into the snow face first, could rejoice.

For two small children, enjoyment was peering out through icy panes and wishing.  Mom…Mom…Mom…Can we go outside, too?  Mom? Mom?  Mom relented only when Mom became unbearable.

Two and four years old, Mary and Bill were wrapped, bundled, booted, and mittened, then given instructions:  Stay on the porch.  Both nodded solemnly.

Mom stood at the kitchen door, staring through the lacy ice crystals at five children enjoying the snow.  Then Bill launched off the porch into deep white sea. Bill, she sighed. 

Stomping out the door, Mom grabbed him by scruff of his coat and pulled him up.  Then Mary whispered, “Mommy!  Mommy!  Look!  Fire in trees!  Fire in snow!”

Fire in the trees?  In the snow?  She beheld glorious cardinals perched in bare trees.  Fiery cardinals with black masks.  Brave cardinals in frigid air.

Fire in the Trees

Mom hollered, “You kids get in here.  Been out long enough!”  But she continued to watch until fire became scarlet birds winging over snowy horizons.  

For those bloggers in the beginning of a long winter, this story is about the snow of 1958, which has been called the mini-ice age.  Keep warm, enjoy the beauty as much as you are able, and Merry Christmas.

Talent Needs to Be Seen

At times, one gets lucky. If that person discovers something that makes one go "Ahh, I love that."

I am that person.  

A blogger I follow has shown her products, ones that are useful and lovely.  Her blog site is: Laws of Gravity

This is what caught my eye and which I now have displayed.  

This is hanging next to a cardinal. Both make me happy.

Check out this site:   ZiziRho

Christmas is coming, you know. Stocking stuffers are most likely expected.  Look at this site. 

Fire in the Snow

Snow happens.

When cold blows in from Canada, pushed up by warm wind from Texas, snow happens suddenly and furiously.  Only older siblings, big enough to sink only to the knee and then leap into the snow face first, could rejoice.

For two small children, enjoyment was peering out through icy panes and wishing.  Mom…Mom…Mom…Can we go outside, too?  Mom? Mom?  Mom relented only when Mom became unbearable.

Two and four years old, Mary and Bill were wrapped, bundled, booted, and mittened, then given instructions:  Stay on the porch.  Both nodded solemnly.

Mom stood at the kitchen door, staring through the lacy ice crystals at five children enjoying the snow.  Then Bill launched off the porch into deep white sea. Bill, she sighed. 

Stomping out the door, Mom grabbed him by scruff of his coat and pulled him up.  Then Mary whispered, “Mommy!  Mommy!  Look!  Fire in trees!  Fire in snow!”

Fire in the trees?  In the snow?  She beheld glorious cardinals perched in bare trees.  Fiery cardinals with black masks.  Brave cardinals in frigid air.

Mom hollered, “You kids get in here.  Been out long enough!”  But she continued to watch until fire became scarlet birds winging over snowy horizons.  

Fire in the Trees


For those bloggers in the beginning of a long winter, this story is about the snow of 1958, which has been called the mini-ice age.  Keep warm, enjoy the beauty as much as you are able, and Merry Christmas.

Marshmallow is not just for hot cocoa.

Source: Who started the first marshmallow fight?

The yard bore a striking resemblance to pure white snow to/in the aftermath of  of an/the explosion in the/a marshmallow factory.

The surprise explosion had spread an aromatic scent of vanilla over the marshmallow-covered town.  Even the steeple  of the nearby church was coated with the sticky white stuff.  Several red cardinals were glued there, their pitiful songs heard about town.

Finally, an elfin boy named Timmy climbed up into the steep interior and then was lowered by rope to free the poor birds.  Oddly enough, the cardinals were able to fly away to nearby trees.

From the heights, Timmy watched faraway children dashing with toboggans in hand to slide down  “Killer Hill”.  He guffawed as each child became mired in the marshmallow ‘snow’, sinking rapidly into the white gloppy goo.

Source

P. S.  Kudos to Delores at Under the Porch Light who delightfully selects 6 words AND a sentence prompt to be used as the blogger desires.  Access her sight by clicking on the peaceful stream image in the right sidebar.  There you will find some exciting and excellent takes on Delores' offerings.  Well done, Delores!

With Lightning Speed

I was on a long-weekend trip with my husband to Idyllwild, California.  The mountain air was brisk; there was the promise of snow in the air.

We wore coats because it was cold and we needed them.  Those coats were so thrilled to be let out into daylight; lingering in a closet must be depressing to a coat meant to shield one from rain, or buffer away the cold wind.

We did our best to support the mountain economy, buying mugs and gifts for our granddaughters.  Anything with a red cardinal on it was in my hands and at the cash register in lightning speed.

It was in the Mountain of Books store that I found a book by Alice Hoffman, The Ice Queen.

Recently, one of my posts dealt with the issue of being invisible.  The M/C narrator (never ever given a name) in this book survives by her ‘invisibility’.   Then she is struck by lightning.  Instead of killing her, this electric life-changing event sends her in a different life direction.

The “Tuesday Teaser” is this:

Are people drawn to each other because of the stories they carry inside?  At the library I couldn’t help but notice which patrons checked out the same books.  They appeared to have nothing in common, but who could tell what a person was truly made of?  The unknown, the riddle, the deepest truth.

Reading the narrator’s journey left me wondering about this being-invisible status so many of us share.  It made me resolve to break through the shields of the invisible.