Tag Archives: Winter

Misty Evening Potpourri

Misty Potomac

Misty Potomac

*Freeway Blogger emails me that he is about to post his thousandth sign. He rocks.

Freeway Blogger

Freeway Blogger

*We’ve had a few misty days here in Columbia’s District — slippery fog and the kind of rain that my mother used to call “spritzing.” This evening, as the earlier-and-earlier dark was closing in, I drove past the Potomac’s Three Sisters, shrouded in shifting mist rising up from the river. If we’re willing to pay attention to our landbase, it will communicate with us. And mine was clearly suggesting that I go home, slip into soft, warm clothes, and allow myself to be comforted and held by the dark.

This time of year always makes me think of the Yeats poem, The Stolen Child. There are two lovely musical versions of it. Close your eyes and listen to both of them. Which do you like best?

*Play your favorite again and spend a few minutes with these perfect (but perhaps NSFW) images.

*Do you know Caroly Kizer‘s poems? You should.

Fearful Women

Arms and the girl I sing – O rare
arms that are braceleted and white and bare

arms that were lovely Helen’s, in whose name
Greek slaughtered Trojan. Helen was to blame.

Scape-nanny call her; wars for turf
and profit don’t sound glamorous enough.

Mythologize your women! None escape.
Europe was named from an act of bestial rape:

Eponymous girl on bull-back, he intent
on scattering sperm across a continent.

Old Zeus refused to take the rap.
It’s not his name in big print on the map.

But let’s go back to the beginning
when sinners didn’t know that they were sinning.

He, one rib short: she lived to rue it
when Adam said to God, “She made me do it.”

Eve learned that learning was a dangerous thing
for her: no end of trouble would it bring.

An educated woman is a danger.
Lock up your mate! Keep a submissive stranger

like Darby’s Joan, content with church and Kinder,
not like that sainted Joan, burnt to a cinder.

Whether we wield a scepter or a mop
It’s clear you fear that we may get on top.

And if we do -I say it without animus-
It’s not from you we learned to be magnaminous.

Picture found here.

Friday Night Poetry Blogging

red-deer-stags_sunset_540
The Stags

~ Kathleen Jamie

This is the multitude, the beasts
you wanted to show me, drawing me
upstream, all morning up through wind-
scoured heather to the hillcrest.
Below us, in the next glen, is the grave
calm brotherhood, descended
out of winter, out of hunger, kneeling
like the signatories of a covenant;
their weighty, antique-polished antlers
rising above the vegetation
like masts in a harbor, or city spires.
We lie close together, and though the wind
whips away our man-and-woman smell, every
stag-face seems to look toward us, toward,
but not to us: we’re held, and hold them,
in civil regard. I suspect you’d
hoped to impress me, to lift to my sight
our shared country, lead me deeper
into what you know, but loath
to cause fear you’re already moving
quietly away, sure I’ll go with you,
as I would now, almost anywhere.

Picture found here here.

Wednesday Night Poetry Blogging

Northern Lights dance over a cabin in Fairbanks
Nox Borealis

~ Campbell McGrath

If Socrates drank his portion of hemlock willingly,
if the Appalachians have endured unending ages of erosion,
if the wind can learn to read our minds
and moonlight moonlight as a master pickpocket,
surely we can contend with contentment as our commission.

Deer in a stubble field, small birds dreaming
unimaginable dreams in hollow trees,
even the icicles, darling, even the icicles shame us
with their stoicism, their radiant resolve.

Listen to me now: think of something you love
but not too dearly, so the night will steal from us
only what we can afford to lose.

Picture found here.

Dark Organization

Getting Organized

Getting Organized


Some good advice for the dark time of the year.

You’re inside anyway and 90% of this is stuff that you can do to music, a movie, an audio book.

Picture found here.

Friday Poetry Blogging


Winter Solstice Chant
~Annie Finch

Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing,
now you are uncurled and cover our eyes
with the edge of winter sky
leaning over us in icy stars.
Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing,
come with your seasons, your fullness, your end.

Picture found here.

Friday Poetry Blogging


You have to click here.

Picture found here.

Swirling Skirt Hems of the Dancing Goddess

Aurora Borealis in Finnish Lapland 2011 from Flatlight Films on Vimeo.

hat tip to NTodd.

Return to Winter

Because I think that we could all stand to cool down a bit:

Sally has some lovely ice and snow sculptures up at her blog here.

Let yourself enjoy Winter for a few minutes.

The Wheel of the Year turns. And a Witch’s job is to help to turn the Wheel.