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rejectomorph

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Prospect [Feb. 25th, 2018|08:25 pm]
rejectomorph
A somewhat mildish day, only slightly cooler than this time of February normally is, let me go shopping with no discomfort. The intermittent overcast is expected to intensify later and rain could begin falling by midnight. Locally, snow is unlikely from this storm, though it is possible. Again, it is not a very wet storm, so even if there is snow there won't be much, even higher up in the mountains.

Currently, the region's hope for a bit more water being stored away for this summer is concentrated on the storm that will arrive later this week, probably on Wednesday, and could continue into the early hours of Sunday. It will start with rain, but is likely to turn to snow overnight, and it could remain cold enough to bring snow to our elevation, at least intermittently, all the way to its end. As this storm is expected to be considerably wetter than tomorrow's, it could provide a welcome addition to the snowpack in the mountains.

That's the very good news. The not so good news is not news, but the poor track record the forecasters have had this year, usually overestimating the amount of rain we will get and the likelihood that it will turn to snow. But then the light snow we had the other day wasn't predicted at all, so maybe their missoverestimations are turning into misuderestimations. That would be nice.

Anyway, the prospect of a significant snowfall has me giddy with anticipation, and also a bit worried. My backup heater no longer works, and if we lose power and the furnace goes off I'll have no source of heat at all— unless you want to consider the burners on the gas range a heat source. If I had a few dozen hot water bottles it might e a viable option, but I don't so it isn't. I'll just have to hope the power doesn't fail.




Sunday Verse



Water Picture


by May Swenson


In the pond in the park
all things are doubled:
Long buildings hang and
wriggle gently. Chimneys
are bent legs bouncing
on clouds below. A flag
wags like a fishhook
down there in the sky.

The arched stone bridge
is an eye, with underlid
in the water. In its lens
dip crinkled heads with hats
that don't fall off. Dogs go by,
barking on their backs.
A baby, taken to feed the
ducks, dangles upside-down,
a pink balloon for a buoy.

Treetops deploy a haze of
cherry bloom for roots,
where birds coast belly-up
in the glass bowl of a hill;
from its bottom a bunch
of peanut-munching children
is suspended by their
sneakers, waveringly.

A swan, with twin necks
forming the figure 3,
steers between two dimpled
towers doubled. Fondly
hissing, she kisses herself,
and all the scene is troubled:
water-windows splinter,
tree-limbs tangle, the bridge
folds like a fan.
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