Making It Up As I Go Along #676

Heard of the strongest winds back home that I’ve known.  They say it’s the strongest in forty years… and I’m sure forty years ago, I wouldn’t have paid much notice.  But 157 km/h in St. John’s is nuts.

The strongest I remember from there was 146 km/h.  I remember they called that night a winter hurricane and I went out for a few minutes and stood in the street.  The roads were snow covered and deserted.  It felt more like a trail in a mountain pass with the great peeks of row houses on either side of me.  I could lay upon that wind.  Leaning full into it without falling to the ground.  And I remember it no longer howled at that point.  It was screaming over my head.

Even though March means winter is winding down, these last few days in Ottawa have been among the coldest of the season.  I haven’t gone out during these four days off (except to get groceries).  I just see the windchill numbers and figure I’m done with this.

My hope is my winter is about five days longer.  Due to fly to Florida on Friday and come back two weeks later.  We may not be in shorts and t shirt weather by the beginning of April but surely goodness it won’t be -23 anymore.

A Brand New Wood
The woods lay inviting across the street
Making my window as a picture
Inviting me to the coldness
In order to walk the familiar paths
Bending around trunks
Bordered by fallen giants
Mossy and ‘shroomed
Inviting a friendly pat
A familiar hello upon the trail.

I’ve considered doing the walk in the unfamiliar
To venture out under the light of the moon
Follow the darkened path by memory and shadows
To explore the differences
To feel the still of it
To catch the moon’s glow through the branches
To reach clearings big enough to spot the stars
To experience the place I know so well
In a brand new way.

Still I’ve never done it.
The experience is locked treasure
Only imagined rather than remembered
Each night bringing new excuses against.
The wear of the long day
The cold of a winter’s night
The thought of nighttime encounters
With hoards of frogs squashed underfoot
With new spun webs hanging invisible in my path
The unknown aggression of night
Where fox and coyote become more brave
And perhaps an owl will attack
Under cover of darkness.

But still I must
The night will come
When exploration calls
And I’ll wander within a brand new wood.