a new coat of snow

a new coat of snow --

the license plate turns into

a mournful blue-eyed face 

If you came round the back of our pickup as I did after a fresh snowfall, you might see a pair of blue eyes in a mournful face muttering, "Not more snow!" 
          Personification turns up in the most unexpected places.

waking on New Year's day

waking on New Year's day

to frigid air filled with light snow,

vandalized mailboxes

Happy New Year! Someone must have gotten pretty drunk last night and decided, like the guy in One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest, to vandalize mailboxes all along Glasgow Road. I can hear him gloating, "Ten in one blow, man!"
          They look like they're bowing down, all their mouths open, a couple of pieces of mail lying white in the white snow, and our red tray, to make it easier to extract the mail, hanging out like a disembodied tongue.
          Second time this has happened in recent years. Sheriff came out to view the damage, but not much they can do to catch the culprit. Going to be expensive to replace all those mailboxes and new posts. Wonder how that guy would feel if it was HIS mailbox!

blooming at Christmas

blooming at Christmas

green pads shoot off red rockets

for northern New Year's

My son's Christmas cactus started blooming at Thanksgiving, kept up a barrage of blossoms at Christmas and is still shooting off red rockets for the New Year. Here in North America we call this plant "Christmas cactus" because it conveniently blooms around the holiday season and sports bright colors of green and red in vivid contrast to the snowy world outside. Schlumbergera is actually an immigrant from South America, where it is called "Flor de Maio" because it blooms in May. 

          This thornless, leafless plant with flat truncated stems doesn't look anything like our usual image of desert cactus. That's because its home is the moist coastal mountains of southeastern Brazil, where it grows on mossy tree limbs or in the humus-filled pockets of rocks. There, the nectar-filled, tubular red flowers attract hummingbirds, which pollinate the flowers. The fertilized flowers produce fleshy fruits that are eaten by birds, which then distribute the seeds.

          So here sits our pot-bound transplant in a south-facing windowsill, blooming its heart out in the middle of a Midwestern winter, no hummingbirds in sight. It may live for years and years, perhaps being passed down to another family member, without ever reproducing. But still, it gives great joy to all who behold its magical transformation from a rather homely plant into a fabulous fountain of flashy blossoms.

reflection of used books

reflection of used books

cast onto a stone wall --

petrified paper

We are sitting around an old round oak table by the front window of Revelations, a used bookstore and restaurant just north of the town square. The combination of inexpensive reading material and good food makes it a popular hangout. Right now the place is packed with Christmas shoppers and people socializing during the holidays. I'm doing both, still on the lookout for a few last-minute gifts among the packed book shelves while having lunch with friends.

          The walls are lined with used books waiting to be adopted. You can almost hear them begging, "Take me!" Popular, timeless volumes pass through many hands, whereas outdated technical editions sit forlornly gathering no more attention than the penetrating aroma of wood fired pizza.

          But who still reads printed books? We are, perhaps, the last generation. One of my sons, who does still read paper books but spends a lot of time on planes, told me, "If you're going to get me a book, make it a Kindle version." 

          There are no ebooks at Revelations. Nothing's virtual here, except perhaps the eerie reflection of paper books projected by the soft light of a lamp through plate glass onto the stone wall of the entrance. Ghost books hovering just outside a bookstore, very close to being something without actually being it. Petrified fossils from an ancient age. People coming and going pass quickly through the virtual images without absorbing a single word.

sleepy snow eyes

sleepy snow eyes

opening on a world turned 

white overnight

On Friday the 13th, freezing rain, followed by snow. In the morning I go out to clear the windshield, laughing to see the half-lidded "eyes" on the pickup truck cover. 

Snow lies crumpled on the slanted windows where it slid down the slick panes. 

In town, a lone sycamore leaf lies beside a water runoff grate, the last leaf of fall on the first snow of winter.      

casting cloud shadows

casting cloud shadows 

contrails back lit at sunset

crisscross the cobalt sky

Blazing sunsets lately, as if to make up for less daylight and more cold as the sun heads south for the winter. In response to increasing darkness, we multiply our lights, inside and out. Driving home, I pass houses, lamp posts, bushes and trees decorated with blinking strands of white, red, green and blue. At home I prefer the radiance of real fire to cold electric lights. I stoke up the wood burning stove, light a few candles and sit to enjoy the mesmerizing dance of yellow flames on logs and the summery scent of beeswax. 

red and all red

red and all red

stairs not going anywhere

only the people

Behind a white door, a red staircase connects lower and upper floors in an old building on the town square. The staircase stays put, not going anywhere, but hundreds of feet over the years have gone up and down, down and up, wearing the risers swayback. 

This must have been a dark passageway when it was Gobbles Clothiers, a men's clothing store owned by fourth generation Iowan, Lee Gobble, for 50 years. You can still see the old bricks peeking from behind the thick plaster.

Now the building houses ICON Art Gallery, and in the hands of artist Bill Teeple the dark stairway has been transformed into a study in color, light and texture.

A place of magic where the way up is also the way down, or neither up nor down, but a place halfway to everywhere and everywhen. It's easy to get there. Just lie upside down on the crenelated steps, stare at the stairs and dream red and all red dreams.