Ambiguity

First week of December. Last weekend’s thin wet snow has crusted over, insufficient to cover the garden debris and lumped along the roadsides like so much leftover cottage cheese. Tonight we are on the warm(ish) side of the weather system, just at the freezing point of water, and whatever is happening out there is setting off the motion detector on our driveway light. I can’t tell if it’s thick fog or freezing drizzle or the lightest dusting of snow.

It is dark tonight; before the weather rolled in yesterday evening I saw the thinnest nail-paring of a new moon slipping down to sleep through the trees. The sky was that peculiar blue, almost green where it fades to muted pinkish gold long after the sun has left the sky. I have been doing my computer work in the back porch, with the cactus plants – it lets me see the sky and the town in a way that I can’t when I am upstairs. Now that I spend so much of my time in solitary work, I need reminders to look away from the computer and out where the real world is.

I am feeling the bug to be creative and contemplative more than scholarly – and this is the time of year when I need to be getting all my academic work in order. I am not entirely confident I will do as well this year as I would like to. But I can either worry about it, or feel my way along and see what happens.

I have some opportunities coming to be excited about; I have some deadlines looming; I have some things that are waiting on responses so that I can move on with them. It is unsettling, a little bit, the waiting. But waiting is part of growing, I guess.

I need to put up the Christmas decorations soon. We have family coming over this winter, and the decorations will need to be up.

I have had Robert Frost on the brain the last few days.

… The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promised to keep
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.

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