We're into our third day of lake effect snow storms off frozen Lake Erie. The wind is a howling devil in white-face, swirling and blasting pellets of snow against everything in its path, building, tree, bird, or human - a far cry from the "easy wind and downy flake" in Robert Frost's poem about stopping by his pretty New England woods.
One must adapt. Wet laundry is hung all over the house because I'm worried about running the dryer when the vent is completely blocked by a huge drift. I tried going out with the shovel to clear it away, but the snow is almost to my waist, and so pounded and packed by the wind it's like thickening cement. The leeward side of the lilac bush is caught in a huge humpbacked drift that is even higher. I'm still able to reach the bird feeders I hung there by approaching from the other direction, but fewer birds are coming.
On the lake side of my house I have a small open patio and also a screened porch (called a "Florida room" around here). It's closed off from the rest of the house by a weather-proof doorwall, but I slipped into my coat and went and sat in the wicker chair and took a photo of the drifts outside the window, just to remember it when spring finally comes.
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.