. . . “O goddess of raspberries, grant us red hands!”
Shrieks, chucks, pipes – where from? Lilt of songbirds
in a social praxis? In the frantic, dizzily companionable
wane of this day neither still nor sweet.

~ Paul Nemser, Excerpt from “After the Calm”

I did not expect a glorious ski. Which made it even more so. Conditions: perfect. One of those wonderful skis when I set off and feel I could go and go. I went around my property, then off onto the Trustees trail, which was perfectly groomed for skiing. Such a bounty and cushion of snow, such glide and going. The bent hemlocks, branched with snow, and lots of people and dogs out enjoying the fresh winter. I talked to an old friend from across the miles and was happy for the reconnection, fond memories. I felt so uplifted. And Frank and my daughter home all day, we took the day comfortably and cozily slow, all of us tired and cheerful by the fire most of the day. If this were not the pandemic, very likely we would be hosting a family holiday party today. Instead, we held our own of sorts. It was an unpressured day. I happily wrote and sent my Aim for Astonishing writing prompt before I skiied, and felt that satisfaction: a prompt for winter solstice, and I will rise by 5:00 a.m. to mark the moment of solstice at 5:02 a.m. The feather was a lucky find. Its delicate beauty on the canvas of snow is reminding me of all the tenderness of multitudes of feathers it takes to send a bird into flight. It’s reminding me of a poet friend I very much admire tonight, and how his poems, each of his multitudes, are feathers like this one.