Good Mourning

Cinematic Moment: An unsettled canvas.

Today is the kind of day that makes me grateful to know a life outside the warm blanket of the Florida sun. It's not one of those where the fresh snow falls down in fluffy white buttons.  It's not the kind when newscasters speak of inches or getting out your sleds.  This variety specifically is a much bleaker version.  The ground and sky are the same color, like a dirty blank canvas on which the artist has only completed the trees.  They stand tall, yet plagued by bits of negative white space where the sleet falling catches in their branches.  Ice falls from the sky making sounds one might associate with a chipmunk scurrying through a pile of fall leaves.  If you look closely, you can almost see what's happening below the layer of ice on the ground.  It is translucent, allowing a few brave blades of grass to pierce through for air.  Our driveway is very long, taking up most of our 5 acres of land, but where it usually winds, black and obtuse in the middle of the woods, is now tamed and muted with ice. It could be a river to the untrained eye.

The dogs are the only ones in this house who don't feel the effects of the day, Benson running back and forth from their toy box to show Barbara what delights he's found.  Their enthusiasm over the same toys every day amazes me.  I can't even write with the same pen for more than a week without getting bored and seeking something more innovative.  Lately they have been obsessed with the Christmas toys their grandma got them last year. An elongated tubular Santa Claus in particular. He's been reduced to one eye and his red suit now has the patchy consistency of a rotten tomato. I hope their new toys from this holiday will intrigue them next year.

On days like this, I am free to lounge around in my favorite robe, a soft pink cashmere gift from my mother, without feeling guilty. I suppose that's the dilemma of a writer. We work best in specific, controlled environments, but that's not to say our environments don't mirror those of the "clinically depressed" in the real world.  Today is an exception.  The weather implies everyone is allowed to be a bit more brooding than usual before or during their everyday tasks. The good citizens, caring friends, mothers, mathematicians, fathers, taxpayers, whatever. Allow yourself to be manipulated by the gray, like a puppet.

Benson settles on a bright green bear with a plaid bow tie. I settle on another cup of coffee and a morning soak.