Tag Archive for night

Winter comes to washington.

The car breaking down, the writing I have (and want) to do, feeling less blah and more superstar at work, not reacting to perceived injustices with emotion and drama? I’m working on these.

But shovelling? That I can do.

[Mr. Moon, DonCsabito on flickr]

It takes me home, to my youth, to my first quasi-grown-up experience: college with my green snap-together plastic shovel in my Nissan Maxima station wagon trunk, digging MYSELF out, getting my own snow tires (or not), falling for the “winterizing package” at Jiffy Lube.

But shovelling? Shovelling is home. When it’s powdery bluewhite crystal, and swishes off the plastic and crinkles under your toes? A chill in your nose, but the light from the house warming your path, showing you are not far from your long winter’s nap.

Winter walking? the whoosh whoosh crunch of the still blue night and my boots and mittens swishing and stretching. That is home and it is a good one.

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What a difference a week (will) make

My love meets me on the Hill after a Saturday class. In the mist of four o clock and the salt of margaritas, he takes my mittened hand and we walk.

Around the Capitol. Literally around it. From the House buildings on the south, walking north but into the park, along the east front. The yellow warm of the lights hitting the moon-colored marble columns. It’s breathtaking. Truly, deeply, breathtaking. I had forgotten how much so. and like, as an intern here so many summers ago, I feel lucky.

[“The U.S. Capitol at Night” on Flickr by DoYouMindtheGap]

Lucky, not only for the obvious, living in this country, in comfort and prosperity, having friends and family and hope and heart… but the littler things, too. Living HERE, in D.C., where a class is held at the Library of Congress, Read the rest of this entry »

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Home III – Summer storms

Against the aqua of my curtains comes yellow so bright, I think it must be car lights. It is 8:20 p.m.

I open the curtain to see that no, it is the summer sky before a storm.

Yellow beams hit my curtains, pebbled sandy driveway, clean white stone of the walls of my building. The rain is coming.

Thunder literally rolls over the yellow green of grass, magnolia tree leaves, footprints.

Flashes of white that stab the earth and listen, wait.

I open the curtains wide to breathe in the wet wind.

When the rain comes, it is in drumming, pattering waves. I love the smell, the taste, the feel of the night from my room, the same storms I watched from a similarly yellow-lit blue room of my childhood.

The summer storm makes me feel something is coming. And anything is possible.

[Photo by “Soleil 1016” on Flickr]

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