March 14th, 2002

caillebotte_man at his window

Hace Fresca

Before I moved to the mountains, I didn't know what cold was. (People who live in places such as Boston might say that I still don't know, and they may be right.) When I was studying Spanish, I learned that the phrase hace fresca meant "it is cool." What struck me as odd, being a southern Californian, was that "cool" went all the way down to about forty degrees in Spanish. To me, that was downright frigid. Then I came here. Brrr. Tonight, it is a bit below forty, and I'd say that five degrees higher would be cool. I guess I've acclimated. I don't think that I will ever learn to love the cold weather, but at least I can now enjoy those cool nights which once made me shiver. In fact, I find them invigorating- as long as I can go back into the warm house after a few minutes.
caillebotte_man at his window


In southern California, October was always my favorite month. It was apt to be cool, and frequently cloudy, and there was always a chance of nice autumn wind. Since I moved to the mountains, I think I prefer March. It is apt to be cool, and frequently cloudy, and there is always a chance of nice spring wind. This afternoon, my walk was through overcast streets whiich occasionally kindled with sunlight momentarily revealed by the drifting silver clouds. Through the woods at the edge of the canyon, I could catch glimpses of the high ridges beyond the Feather River, green and bright, with deep blue sky above them. Usually, this time of year, the mountains are shadowd in clouds and the town lies in bright sunlight, but today it was reversed. March is just full of surprises.

The bird calliope in the field near my house is still playing in the afternoons, though slower and not as loud. I think many of the birds must have paired off. Some of them may have moved on, as well, since construction has begun on a new house at the edge of the field. The noise probably disturbs them. Once the house is in and landscaped, there will probably be a different group of birds. Yard birds. (Heh.) The kind I get in my yard. It will probably be a few years before the entire field is developed. When it is, I will miss the song of those field birds.