A Week of Winter

"Moss grows where nothing else can grow. It grows on bricks. It grows on tree bark and roofing slate. It grows in the Arctic Circle and in the balmiest tropics; it also grows on the fur of sloths, on the backs of snails, on decaying human bones. It is a resurrection engine. A single clump of moss can lie dormant and dry for forty years at a stretch, and then vault back again into life with a mere soaking of water." Elizabeth Gilbert

Winter has arrived with winds roaring down the straits. Ferry after ferry has been cancelled. The weekend was especially disruptive with passengers stranded on either side. Our Vancouver daughter had four friends stay overnight. I was called in to teach yesterday morning for a colleague who was stranded. 

Tim and I bundled up on Sunday afternoon and went for a walk around the Bog, a depression in the landscape sheltered from the wind by curving hillocks and tall trees. 

The ponds are full now, fed by streams that trickle underground and overground, between houses and under streets, thanks to the abundant recent rains. 

Green-winged Teals and Mallards quack and preen, and swim about in organized confusion. 

Later that night snow began falling, small flakes that felt like pellets that swirled up and around with the wind. Every child went to sleep with hopes of snow covering the ground in the morning. 

Our Mister F awoke early on Monday morning and quickly rushed to play outside in the fresh snow even before it was light saying, "It could be gone by recess time at school." Smart boy! 

Miss S attends another school and she told me that recess and lunch hour were extended so that students could enjoy the snow. Smart teachers! 

Snow is an event here, and there is more to come. I love the bright whiteness and the way it transforms the drab landscape into light and airiness. There is little ambivalence about snow in our city - people either love it or hate it. I'm in the love camp. 

I grew up much further north where winters can be interminable with snow lasting until March or April. That is too much winter for me now. Then I lived very near the equator for many years and winter, or seasons of any kind, were non-existent, and I missed the rhythm of the year. So I'm very happy to be in a place where seasons are mild, but definite. 

After being out in the cold briskness of winter, is there anything better than a cup of hot chocolate or tea by the fire? I think not. Saturday's puttering resulted in a clean and tidy home that makes me smile to look at it. A place for everything and everything in its place. Ahh. 

This morning a few lazy flakes continue to drift through the air. The wind has stopped for a bit and ferry passenger traffic is back to normal. Another system is blowing in and we'll see what that brings. 

Meanwhile, I'm off to school: Spanish, Foods, Spanish, and French are on today's schedule. What's on yours?