Not much to write about -- lots of white stuff came through yesterday and today; drifts and piles now up to about 6 feet -- spent hours digging out cars and driveways and decks, carving paths like a troop of ants . . .
This winter is sapping any creative juices that still exist. There's no continuity at work -- open, close early, hope the staff and clients get home safely . . . Come home only to pick up a shovel and attack as the paths and drives begin to narrow again . . .
When I do another run to the laundry room to get things dry again, I glance over at my workspace. Now blank white canvases make me angry and resentful, too much like snow -- I wonder if I could create some kind of painting incorporating rock salt and sand -- ha!
You see, just like that wonderful classic novel of 19th century America, Ole Rolvaag's Giants in the Earth, the pearled edge of lunacy creeps in with the snow drifts . . . or like Conrad's Heart of Darkness when the Congo River and the jungles carried men along to madness . . . With all our technology, we are still very much at the mercy of Nature, a force that has no allegiance, no likes or dislikes. It just is. No matter how hard we rail against it, it wins.
Well, at least the sun is out and fairly high in the sky. The sparrows and buntings flit about chirping happily (that's one more path -- to the feeders -- that I must keep open), with a battalion of crows flying maneuvers, riding shotgun on the winds.
God, what I wouldn't give to see a bright fushia hibiscus blossom right now . . . Take care and stay warm everyone. Until better times are upon us . . .