April 11: Frost

over the mountain 

in time to melt the frost

rising sun

November 9: First frost

Scraping frost off my car

how I envy

the flock of geese overhead.

January 13: Cold morning

Up on the mountain

tall white pines silvered by frost,

crows blown by the wind.

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October 11: First frost

First frost, melted,

dripping off the eaves.

Wearing layers against the cold.

December 15: December sunrise

Spent the day birding the beaches, salt marshes, and nearby neighborhoods of Ogunquit and Wells for the York County Christmas Bird Count. We began the day with a beautiful sunrise over the ocean at Moody Point, where dozens of sandpipers twinkled at the edge of the chilly surf...

 

Sunrise over the beach--

at the sandy edge

one frozen raspberry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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October 19: Winter is coming

Walking through Camden's Harbor Park and Amphitheatre this afternoon, the signs of coming cold were gathering with the fallen leaves.

Frost warning--

schooners wrapped in plastic,

flocks of south-bound sparrows.

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November 15: Heavy frost

Freezing in flannel,
so why am I surprised
to see this heavy frost?

October 29: Morning ritual

Crow watches
as I scrape the frost
from my windshield.

December 13: Stars again

Late last night I was out star-gazing before going to bed. I was thinking of that as I scraped the delicately needled stars of frost off my windshield early today. Stars at night, stars first thing in the morning. And driving to an early meeting, one big star (the sun) rising brightly over Camden Harbor, casting its rays over the bay and the awakening town...

Constellations of frost
recall late-night college conversations
about fractals, nature's patterns.

November 20: Morning frost

I find myself fascinated by the frost coating each leaf and blade of grass these cold, late fall mornings. The sere, wilted vegetation is transformed into something beautiful once again, particularly when the sun rises and makes a field, or forest, glitter.

Sunlight on frosty leaves--
a moment of brilliance
soon melted away.

November 16: Frost and fog

Wake in the guest bedroom of a friend to a foggy dawn, only the frosty lawn visible. Later, the mist lifted to reveal a forest of hoar-frosted trees, a landscape defined by white.
 
I wake with a clear mind
to the dream-like world
of fog and frost.

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October 6: First Frost

When I went out to my car for an early morning meeting, running late as usual, I was delayed even further by the unexpected task of having to scrape frost off my car windows. The lush, mown lawns in my neighborhood bore a pale sheen of frost, and the morning air felt frigid to my thin skin. Thankfully, I'd brought my geranium in the night before. Friends are scrambling to harvest one last round of vegetables, as another freeze is due tonight. And still the leaves remain on the trees, green, barely touched by color. They must know something we don't. I'm ready to haul out my Uggs and call it winter, but then I hear rumors that this weekend it's supposed to get back up into the 70s. Ah, the joys of living in Maine amid its vagaries of weather.

Before sunrise, frost--
but not yet on the pumpkin
freshly picked, uncarved.

November 18: Cat

This morning when I pulled up the bedroom window blind, I was surprised to look out and see a small grey cat curled up in the middle of the lawn, seemingly quite at ease despite being settled atop a pile of frosted leaves. Its back was to me so it didn't notice me at the window. I wondered if maybe it was watching squirrels. It seemed alert, looking around without alarm, not huddled or fearful. When the furnace kicked on and warm vapors began to drift out from the furnace outlet vent just below the bedroom window, I wondered if maybe the cat was drawing on some small warmth by positioning itself there. Or maybe that was just coincidence. The incessant squirrel show that plays out in the backyard trees has been made all the easier to observe now thanks to the lack of leaf cover.

I was reminded of one of my favorite Hiroshige woodblock prints from the mid-19th century, Cat in Window, which depicts a bobtail white cat perched on a window sill, calmly looking out over the town at dusk, Mount Fuji and a flight of birds in the distant background. (It's part of the master artist's "One Hundred View of Edo" series.) The cat is the essence of watchful stillness. As a reminder to cultivate this quality in myself, a reproduction of this image once hung by my desk, when my own window looked out over bustling Rockland.

You look soft to touch
grey cat curled on frosted lawn,
calmly watching ... what?