The temperatures keep playing see-saw. Yesterday it snowed, but not seriously. It was only those big, lighthearted, fluffy flakes that meandered down in spirals, sometimes even drifting to the side, as it gravity's hold on them was tenuous, and they weren't sure exactly where to go. Enough collected on my front porch and sidewalk to warrant to quick sweep. It was the kind of snow that my Cree-speaking friend calls (phonetically) "kee-os-KISK" - which basically means "liar" or "liar snow" - the kind of snow that may look deep, but when you go out with your pail to collect some for water to make tea, a full pail of fluffiness reduces to very little water. Coincidently, he said, it's also the word they use for "lawyer" - e.i. "the one who lies for you," he said.
The big drifts have been melting fast. We've been see-sawing between flood warnings and warning cancellations. This photo is of a some property down the road from my place; the semi-thawed ground is doing the best it can. Rain is forecast for later on this week, and even more liar snow. The lake still appears to be locked up tight with ice, but sometimes ice can lie, too.
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.