
Late afternoon ripples

You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall

Weather Underground kept scaling back its anticipated snowfall here, cutting it to a tad over three inches. Instead, we woke up to this yesterday, about 9½ inches after a day of blizzard conditions. Seemed strange going from near whiteout one day to cloudless blue the next.


We’re bracing for subzero temperatures in the coming nights, but a minus four is still ten degrees warmer than just up the road. And then another half-foot is on the horizon.
I know we’re hardly alone when it comes to scenes like this, and I’m grateful I no longer have to commute through hazardous storm conditions.
How’s the winter kicking in where you are?
Back before Covid, folks in Eastport would kiss the giant sardine sculpture that descends on New Year’s Eve from the Tides Institute’s headquarters as a gesture for good luck. This year, however, the act turned into placing a sticker on a surrogate fish, fun all the same.

To learn about the giant sardine and its companion maple leaf, you’ll just have to stay tuned till next year here. By then, I’ll be anxious to hear how many of your wishes came true.
Here’s wishing you and yours all the best in 2022.

At the beginning of the week, we had a tease of the Christmas-card expectations of a white holiday. Whether it holds to the big day itself is always in question, and the forecast seems to shift hourly. Even so, enjoy the scene.


Since the ground isn’t frozen, this will melt off quickly. But it’s what greeted us when we woke up this morning.


My first exposure to a winter of heavy snowfall started off the day after Thanksgiving and continued, with one melting around Groundhog Day, until nearly Palm Sunday. That was Upstate New York, with around 130 inches of snow total.
The stories I could tell since!
A MURDER OF CROWS (collectively)
a hundred crows a minute
according to a professional counter
over Owings Mills
as I stood on my deck, transfixed
maybe a half-hour

the sunset magnifies itself in the ice
in a long stretch toward the horizon light
through thin bands of trees
