This is the state we find ourselves in now: a liminal state, where, in the absence of certainty in our present and future lives, we look for what we can count on for stability outside of ourselves.
We haven’t been in the woods for many days, Lily and I. I soon saw the wisdom of that absence in the downed limbs and needled branches littering the fresh snow.
A word of commendation for the people who drive the snow plows, both the private snow-plow people and the folks who work for the towns: They work without stopping, clearing the roads for our doctors and first responders and anyone else who has to get to work.
The 10 inches of snow brings our running total to 54 inches for the season. The average is about 65; we probably will not make last year’s total of 95 inches, which included 42 inches for March.
A few miles inland, birds, plants and people find refuge from traffic, shopping malls, endless concrete and cookie-cutter rows of houses at two other oases.
