An Empty Vessel

Sound becomes critical as the world empties out. Today's snow entered imperceptibly, quiet, sneaking in without an announcement, a few random flakes that grew slowly in number to become snow fall. Three days ago falling on bare leaves with more urgency, the snow talked as it fell. It mimicked the far sound of eggs frying in a hot pan through an open kitchen window, lying about its intent, a mockery.














As the moisture solidifies and drops from the sky the absence of something grows stronger.

The few cars that pass on the road drive ever so slowly compared to the heated frenzy of summer. At each curve it sounds as if they have pulled off to the side. The layer of gravel and grit placed by the snow plow plays a deceptive tune with the rubber tires. But there are no cars by the side of the road. They slowly move on.















For a former Hawaiian it is like approaching absolute zero. Movement, projects, travel come to a stiffening halt. What is left? Taxes and house work, ick. So I read instead and wander outside now and again because I have to.

A Pile O' Rocks waits to be lifted and transformed


















Into a Stack O' Rocks in a uniform plane with purpose.













The leaves of Miscanthus sinensis 'Morning Light' curl and turn brown in the absence of something. I like it and want more. How many times will I be able to divide this plant in the season when something is present?














The peeling bark of Yellow Birch, Betula alleghaniensis catches my eye again and I stop for a closer look. It would compliment the Miscanthus' brown curls at this time of year. Maybe there will be a place where I can combine the two when the presence returns.













Remember the Hemlock forest in winter. It will soon be gone. I do not know if I got here too late into the plague or if it is the nature of mature groves to hold onto their dead wood. It is not the most attractive looking stand of trees, always more brown than green with a dark, sharp and jagged edge and bare feet, refusing to let much grow beneath them. The quiet snow has given them some temporary dignity. A huge swath of ground will be emptying out soon, making room.














The quiet snow is being forced out by a gathering wind. The absence reaches deeper over the mountains. The trees clatter and the Black Locust creaks its cold lumber contortions. The air is filled with thin clear crystals like floating shards of glass. This may be rime, frozen fog blasting in on the absence.

Tomorrow I just might have to stay completely inside.

Added January 20th 9:00 am. It looks as if my well's water lines have done froze and the spigots have run dry. Oh joy. Think Thaw.