Archive | Weather Matters

Snow Kairos

The last day of Mercury Retrograde, and snow settles over the city like the softest of blankets, stopping us in our tracks and quieting our conversations—what Lou Reed called, “Oh, oh, my, and what shall we wear/oh, oh, my, and who really cares.” This morning I ran my errands very early so I could climb indoors when the snow came, and marvel over the world growing old and young at once. I’ve heard the last weeks of December and first of January are out of time completely, and today this feels true. It’s not just that my solar return is on the 19th so these days are personally balsamic. It’s that this is the darkest period of our orbit around the sun, and as our eyes adjust to the lack of physical light, our souls have a rare opportunity to show us the way. The snow can seem cold, unforgiving, isolating. But if we listen below its stillness we can hear our hearts beating. More than that, we can hear them ringing. Clear as bells, they are saying, Only love always glows.

Simple City

I wake to find the world wildly simplified. Snow has blanketed every surface; the heavens are grey and emptying. My permakitten raises her head and drapes a paw over my shoulder. “You’re not going out there,” she’s saying, but I am realizing there is no coffee in the house. The world is thus more simplified: Must fetch coffee. In a stupor, I don layers of warm not itchy, curse myself for failing to pull parka from storage, add to daunting to-do list. I do not forget gloves. I do not forget scarf. I forget socks. The only open cafe is a half mile away. I begin my trek. The sidewalks are not plowed. The streets are. I walk in the middle of streets, ignoring cars honking as they inch by. Simple. Must fetch coffee. At the coffee shop I order, sip, look at raw, cold ankles. “Oh my god,” says the barrista, looking too. I blink twice. Back I go, coffee in paw, croissant in pocket. Simple. Through the elements, wet cold dark. On my block, I fumble for key, force open door, try not to wake sleeping neighbors. My apartment is strewn with work and unhappiness but it is shelter and it is mine. Out of cold wet I strip; into bed I climb with coffee croissant cat. There is nowhere I must be and I am warm and safe. I am lucky and I know it.

No Hopper Here

I’m working at the new coffee shop next door to my house today. It’s become quite the hot spot for the remaining adults in Williamsburg, and a terrific range of languages can be heard opining on such grownup topics as weather and mortgages and socks. (Don’t knock that last one; I can talk about socks endlessly, especially the striped and polka-dotted varietals.) Now that the weather has grown so inhospitable, we’re crowded over big bowls of toast soldiers and eggstravaganzas (the owners let me name that dish of brussels sprouts, bacon, and poached eggs), and we’re sharing tables and gallows-humor grins. One language not being spoken at my table is the language of love. A couple is sitting opposite me: a very young, very beautiful woman wearing what they call “rich girl” hair (perfectly coiled and colored long, long locks), and a man closer to my age wearing an expensive sweater and an even more expensive smile. The two have been hissing at each other throughout their meal–even as I type with headphones, I can sense their tension building–and when the bill shows up, he hands it to her without a word. Oh my lord, does she ever blow up. “You know I don’t pay!” she bellows, narrowing her eyes, losing her prettygirl cool. “Oh yes you do, doll,” I almost say aloud. “We always do.”

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy