More snow

posted by Helen

"A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."
- James Joyce, The Dead

This was the week of too much snow

posted by Helen

I'm tired of snow.

I'm tired of complaining about snow.

I'm tired of wearing work boots, down jacket, gloves, and hat to go fetch the mail.

I'm tired of taking my boots off every time I come in the door.

I'm tired of a landscape that reminds me of those cheesey styrofoam rocks they used on the set of the original Star Trek series.

I'm tired of hearing the snow sliding off the roof and making the whole house shake.

But most of all, I'm tired of dosing the dog with Rescue Remedy so we can sleep through the night without her trying to crawl up under the quilt because the snow sliding off the roof freaks her out.