I woke up this morning to an odd scraping sound. It was only one of the cats playing with a piece of paper on the linoleum, but in my half-sleep, I thought it was someone shoveling outside. Then I remembered – we don’t have any snow. I'm not counting the inch we got at the end of last week, because right after it fell, it warmed up a degree or two and rained for three solid days. Now everything is back to green/brown. I know that many of you out there in other Northern parts of the Blogiverse who are struggling with too much snow and horrible ice are gnashing your teeth at the very thought that I might have the chutzpa to complain. No, I’m not complaining, just observing. I know that winters are generally milder here in the Pelee area (not too far from Windsor/Detroit). Most of the time we don’t get the huge dumps of lake effect snow that the western side of Michigan and New York do. That’s why they call this area Canada’s “Sun Parlor.” We’re actually south of the US border here, and those few degrees of latitude make all the difference. Still, when I was looking at some photos I took this time last year, I was amazed. Here are two shots, taken a year apart almost to the day. The only similarity is that the lake in each is unfrozen. In last year’s snowy shot it's harder to see the waves (it was very blustery that day, and I took the picture from inside) but the gulls are riding the wind, watching for small fish the waves toss onto the breakwall rocks. In the recent photo, you can definitely tell the surf’s up, but there’s not a snowflake in sight. Well, I guess I should count my blessings; soon enough that scraping noise will be all too real.
The Cloud Messenger (Meghadūta) is a lyric poem by the respected Indian poet, Kālidāsa. The poem centers around a yaksa in exile. Longing for his beloved, waiting for him on a Himalayan mountain, he asks a cloud to take a message to her. The sights he tells the cloud it will see on its way make up most of the poem.
The idea of recording observations appeals to me. I thought The Cloud Messenger was the perfect title for a blog about the journey that we all make as we move through our days.
I'm a baby boomer who grew up dancing in the streets of Detroit during the classic Motown years, lived beside the Rocky Mountains for many years, now retired and living (and writing full time) in S. Ontario. I have one blog for rock 'n' roll oldies, and one for nature, poetry and life along the Lake.