January 7: Off

Last night my husband and I were the first on the scene of an odd car accident (not that there's such a thing as a "normal" one). As we drove along, it took both of us a moment to realize what we were seeing: a car tilted completely sideways, leaning up against a tree at a 90-degree angle. We could see the tracks in the greasy slush showing clearly how it had crossed lanes, slid off the road, then flipped. If not for the trees, it probably would've been upside-down.

My first comment was something like, "Wow, that's quite a slide." It wasn't till a few seconds later, when Paul asked if we should turn around, that I think it sank in for both of us that we were driving past what might be a serious crash. It was such an unexpected, extraordinary sight that it took that extended double-take for us to comprehend what we were seeing.

We approached the car with some trepidation, not knowing what we'd find. The car was silent. It seemed very strange to be confronted by the entire undercarriage, facing us like a wall. As Paul tried to see if anyone was in the vehicle--not easy when the accessible windows are all up in the air--I called the police. No one had reported an accident. And with some relief, we determined that no one was in the car, just the car keys in the ignition and a bunch of PBR cans floating around the interior. We did make out footprints running down the side of the road, which a policeman was still following after we gave our report and finally continued on home. We'll probably never know the rest of the story, but the surreal experience certainly inspired us to make up a few possibilities between us.

What are we seeing?
Fresh skid marks, flipped car roadside--
someone's strange story.

January 6: Letter from the Moon

I had trouble falling asleep last night, which was unexpected because I've been sleeping between 10-12 hours a night lately thanks to being sick. As I was wandering around the house at 1:00 a.m., wide-awake, I became aware that it was really bright outside. No wonder I couldn't sleep: the waxing gibbous moon was beginning its descent behind the bare limbs of the backyard. Moonlight flickered on the river's surface, and the whole yard looked silvery pale, almost eerie. I peered out the back window, hoping to see some animal activity, some sign of life moving in the night besides myself... nothing but light.

The interior of the house was fully illuminated, as well. A white square of light glowed atop a small table in the living room. Without my glasses, for a moment I perceived this as a solid, paper-like object--an envelope, perhaps--until I realized it was just a lunar illusion, a trick of moonlight.

If only I could
open the moon's bright letter
cast on the table.

January 5: Black duck

Still sick, still home, still spending a lot of my time just looking out the window, this morning I watched a single black duck make its way up the river against the current, edging around the newly developed fringes of ice on the banks, poking among the exposed stones and in the eddies. It hung out within view for a while, a dark silhouette in churning grey water framed by the sepia tones of the leaf-strewn banks and bare trees above. Then it was gone. Only the trees, dead leaves, and pale, expressionless sky remain. And me, here at the window.

Ice on the river.
Lone black duck skirts the edges,
too soon out of sight.

January 4: Honey

When one has a cold, fewer things are more soothing than a steaming hot mug of tea with honey. As I squeezed the Beech Hill honey, the viscous golden fluid swirling through the hot water, it felt like I was adding a dose of living gold, a bit of sweet, magic medicine drawn from the summer goldenrod, blueberries, and asters on the hill's lovely fields.

A dose of honey,
summer distilled, what I need
for a winter cold.

January 3: Dreams and synchronicity

This one's a bit arcane. Last night I dreamed I was editing a document for my director. He had a word in the document, "nouses," that I questioned him about. I thought he was trying to write the plural of the French word "nous" or "we." Remember, this is a dream, so the fact that that doesn't make sense is beside the point. We ended up agreeing that it should be "nouveaux," which also makes no sense. Shortly thereafter I woke up with these strange words echoing in my head.

After my morning ablutions, I checked my email. I'm signed up for wordsmith.org's A.Word.A.Day. Each week has a different theme, and in honor of the new year, this week's theme is words that begin with the "new" sound. Yesterday's word was "numinous," and today's was "noosphere," which means "the sum of human knowledge, thought, and culture." I realized as I read today's entry that although I hadn't taken much note of yesterday's word or the week's word theme, something had clearly registered in my subconscious. And thus I dream about nouses and nouveaux and awaken to noosphere, a delightful synchronicity of sounds to wrap my mind around.

Each dream, the mind's new--
blank slate for the noosphere
to noodle anew.

January 2: First birds

I like to keep track of the first birds I see each year, although I confess that at the start of this year, I haven't yet put in an effort to see any particular birds. With that disclaimer of my laziness, here's what I've got for the first two days of 2012:

1. Rock pigeon--flock seen swirling above the Smoke Stack Grill before the start of yesterday's road race
2. American crow--seen flying overhead while running the race
3. Herring gull--ditto
4. Mallard--heard quacking in the nearby Megunticook River during the last mile of the race

Today all I saw in the back yard were crows in the trees and gulls overhead. Nothing on the feeder. Nothing singing in the neighborhood. One of my resolutions is to bird more this year, and in that respect, I haven't set myself a very good example thus far. Thankfully, I'm not embarking on a Big Year--that's when you set out to see as many bird species as possible in a certain geographic region within a calendar year. A recent movie of this name, starring Owen Wilson, Steve Martin, and Jack Black, portrays well the zany obsessiveness of this quest. Anyone looking at my "year list" at this stage, however, would clearly understand that I'm not going for any records!

An everyday bird,
but I don't tire of watching
the crow, its antics.

January 1, 2012: Starting off on the right foot

My friend Ron has been running, and I've been slowly getting back into running form thanks to a patient physical therapist, so we decided to run the Set the Pace 5K together in Camden today. Getting up on the first morning of the year and running a road race seemed like a good way to literally set the pace for the year--facing a physical challenge in the company of friends.

The first year I ran this in 2009, it was 0 degrees at best and my legs felt like lead. This year couldn't have started off on a more beautiful note: blue skies, 40s, no wind, bright sun. Perfect running weather. My original goal was just to finish, but as we got underway, that shifted to finishing with Ron in sight, and then to finishing ahead of a young woman running in a pink skirt and knee socks (not that I had anything against her fashion sense, or her--she was just a very visible target). I did all those things, my body still feels intact, and I even won a prize in the post-race raffle. I have a good feeling about 2012...

Just body and breath,
road beneath my feet, blue sky.
I can still do this.