The wind whips along the passage between my house and the neighbor’s, a wild, invisible force that leaves behind surprisingly delicate sandbar-like ripples in the snow. Then the slanting rays of the late afternoon winter sun accentuate the patterns with deceptively warm colors. But trust me, this is no day at the beach.
Later, as the sun prepares to withdraw completely, it tints the wind-sculpted drifts with a pastel spring blush, as if to say, “Come out and play! It’s beautiful and warm!” Don’t listen! The ambient temperature is minus 20 Celsius and the wind chill is minus 32. I regret having the horizontal lines in the second one. They're reflections of my plantation blinds, as I was taking this from inside rather than step out into the teeth of the stinging wind!
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.