thou art all ice

“Tut, Tut thou art all ice. Thy kindness freezes. Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?” ~ Richard III, Act IV, Scene2 William Shakespeare

First snowfall of the season – not a dry powdery lacy blanket but a dense covering of heavy wet sponge. To be followed by bouts of melting and freezing and presto – treacherous slippery sheets to navigate whether on foot or behind the wheel. Throughout the interminable winter, with each snowfall more layers of ice pile on this first layer. You’ve got your clear gritty ice, grey milky ice and your glossy black ice. This city is not pedestrian friendly at the best of times but worse in the winter so behind the wheel is probably safer.

Walking on ice is a game of chance. Any second your foot can jerk out from under you and down you go like a wet sack. Crossing busy streets is a nightmare. Impatient drivers like to play “let’s see how fast the pedestrian can move” revving their engines and aiming their trucks at you while you try to scurry out of the way and flip them the bird. I am not a total banana heels on ice but can’t believe I used to love to skate. This city’s version of Squid Game.

To combat the ice, I usually pull on ice cleats or strap on contraptions that look like metal cages. They work after a fashion – I don’t slip or fall but are oh-so-hideous and inconvenient. This year I hope to avoid all that and purchased a pair of boots which are supposed to be slip resistant. Warmth and comfort are definite assets. Their traction qualities remain to be seen but I won’t go down without a fight.

les racines

Bank erosion is the wearing away of the banks of a stream or river. This is distinguished from erosion of the bed of the watercourse, which is referred to as scour.{]roots

“No matter how full the river, it still wants to grow.” ~ Proverb

“Do I change like a river, widening and deepening, eddying back on myself sometimes, bursting my banks sometimes when there’s too much water, too much life in me, and sometimes dried up from lack of rain? Will the I that is me grow and widen and deepen? Or will I stagnate and become an arid riverbed? Will I allow people to dam me up and confine me to wall so that I flow only where they want? Will I allow them to turn me into a canal to use for they own purposes? Or will I make sure I flow freely, coursing my way through the land and ploughing a valley of my own?”
― Aidan ChambersThis is All: The Pillow Book of Cordelia Kenn




“Fluffy” 18 years old and counting … (88 in human years)

“Based on a survey of 10 reputable sites that discuss the average domestic cat, the numbers are more inconsistent, ranging from 10 to 20 years. The average domestic cat lifespan comes out to 15.1 years.” []

Cats never strike a pose that isn’t photogenic. ~ Lillian Jackson Braun