Snow fell on Saturday and should have melted yesterday. But it stayed cold Sunday and this morning the view out my window is of the neighbors' houses, rooftops covered in snow, bare tree branches and a pale pink sky on the horizon. Lovely.
At first the impatiens refused to recognize the change in weather. So for most of Saturday as the cold, wet snow fell, they held firm, their spring pinks and purples poking proudly from the white flakes quickly piling up around them. The pots of geraniums are mounded like igloos and for the first time in months, I bought parsley at the market, because I knew I wasn't getting any this week from the garden.
Out at the compost pile, I experienced the joy and thrill that only a gardener knows when the pitchfork, in turning over the top layer of shredded leaves, revealed a colony of bacteria-ridden detritus radiating warmth. Nothing like a compost pile that smokes even as the temperatures dip below the freezing point on the thermometer.
Christmas and Hanukkah (blended) preparations were underway this weekend. Cards and gifts ordered. A trip to the shops. Wreath on the door. My first batch of fudge ruined--a holiday tradition--when I over-boiled it. Menorah cleaned and candles at the ready. Claire comes home on Thursday.
Patsy shot this winter scene over the Thanksgiving weekend. It's a view looking east from the National Museum of the American Indian, the tiny top of the capitol building is barely in the frame. She wanted to get the branches against the chilly, winter sky. We all stood patiently waiting for her to get the shot in the crush of the visitors on the Mall that day. It was blowing cold, and Patsy had a thin jacket on, but she seemed to hardly notice as she took picture after picture adjusting the settings on her camera, until she was satisfied.
The Putterer
