four feet wide, really.
The dead might wake into a world like this,
And know its white lost ecstasy their own.
I am a stranger wearing flesh and bone,
Peering beyond my dusty chrysalis.
No scent or sound invades the integrity
Of peace beneath the ermined thatch of pine.
Nor whir of wing, nor quick heart-beat of mine
Shall spill the cradled silence from a tree.
No God of Sinai shatters the timeless pause
With “Thou shalt not.”
But from each holy bush
Love speaks, articulate in this white hush.
Here life and death may meet, obeying new laws,
And mingling as easily as flake with flake.
Into a world like this the dead might wake.–Emma Gray Trigg
characterized by the United States Environmental Protection Agency in 1990 as “the most polluted river in the country with respect to toxic sediments.–Wikipedia
A long tenuous moment involved climbing over the Taunton River on the Braga Bridge. Two wheel drive, barely made it up the grade.
In my sister’s favorite kitchen. Nine degrees outside. Snow has stopped.
(Charlottesville Bicycle Pedestrian Coordinator) Amanda Poncy out for a morning walk with Buddy, five year old tricolor hound. Coincidentally, Poncy is walking on the 1976 TransAmerica Bicycle Trail, a 4247 mile transcontinental trail established for the Bicentennial.
One of my favorite aspects of snow is the momentary reclamation of the street, the commons, the several square miles of our city which we ceded to the automobile in the last century.
Pedestrians momentarily rule. People see and speak to each other. Smartphones are stored.
A calmness prevails. A chance to look around and see all we have created.
Walking about, everything is almost black and white, a most salutary condition.
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