A Sense of Movement

A Sense of Movement

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Today I took my first walk around Lake Anne in more than a month. The ice was thinning and the path was clear. I spied sand containers on sloping sections of the trail, do-it-yourself ice remedies.

My ice remedy is to stay off the paths. Now that our second snow has melted and our third has yet to fall, I took advantage of the mild weather to circle Reston’s oldest lake.

Unlike three weeks ago, when I snapped this shot, there were puddles and bird song and a sense of movement in the landscape.

Spring isn’t fully awake yet, but it’s beginning to stretch its arms and legs.

Poetry, Too

Poetry, Too

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There were about 40 of us at the poetry reading last night, hardy souls who ventured out into the cold to support fellow writers and have our worlds enlarged by words.

Two friends read, mostly from their latest work: Michele Wolf from Peacocks on the Streets and Chloe Yelena Miller from Perforated.

I remember listening to Michele read from another book years ago. I felt the same last night as I did on that day, as if I seeing a newborn world, softened edges, scattered light.

Last night, I was sitting next to Suzanne, my oldest, herself a writer, someone who sighed, as I did, at the perfect phrases. That was poetry, too.

(Broken Star Quilt by Elda Strahm, photographed at the Renwick Gallery 2/24/26)

The Weight of It

The Weight of It

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I felt differently about yesterday’s snow after being out in it. I felt the weight of it. Though it lacked the heft of snowcrete, it was heavy and wet, which is why it clung so fetchingly to limbs and branches. After shoveling it for 30 minutes, I could feel it in my back and legs.

This is more observation than complaint, proof that the landscape has its way with us — that it marks us, just as we mark it. Before I breached the white surface with my orange shovel, I noticed the tracks: fox, I believe, and a disturbed area around the ground cover, pawed by deer hungry for foliage.

We all wanted something: food in the animals’ cases and a clear driveway in mine. Movement and sustenance — twin aspirations that drive us all.

Now This is Snow

Now This is Snow

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How enchanting to wake up to this white world! By all accounts I should be sick of snow. We’ve had white stuff on the ground for almost four weeks. But we didn’t have what you see above: the kind of snow that transforms, that turns an ordinary, workaday world into something beautiful and new.

But now, at least for a few hours, we do.

A nor’easter slammed through here yesterday on its way up the coast, and it left its mark. A heavy, wet snow bends the bamboo, covers the ground, and blankets the just-blooming tips of the witch hazel tree. Every branch and twig is embossed with a coating of pure white.

When I woke up yesterday the world was gray and ugly. It was mud season — and not unwelcome given the weeks of snowcrete we’d had to shovel and endure. With that in mind today’s weather is definitely a step in the wrong direction.

But I have to give beauty its due. I have to say, now this is snow.

Skating for Joy

Skating for Joy

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Who knows how much is true or the kind of fairytale the Olympics likes to trumpet, but the outcome can’t be disputed. Alysa Liu just won the first gold medal in women’s figure skating since 2002. The 20-year-old took a two-year break from the sport, then returned to win the world championship and a spot on the Olympic team.

In interviews before clinching the top spot on the podium, she insisted she had nothing to prove. She was already an Olympian. Now she just had to skate, to bring joy to the ice.

When she bounced out onto the rink yesterday with her ombre ponytail flying, she was the antithesis of the tightly coiffed young women who took the stage before her. Some of them skated more elegantly than she did. But Liu skated as if she’d just been released from an earthbound cage into her true element. She jumped and landed, skipped and soared, her striped hair barely tied back, the sequins on her gold costume gleaming.

In the end it was not the “Quad God” who captured our hearts, but this ebullient young skater. Liu reminds us why we should do things in the first place — because we love to do them.

(Photo: Wikipedia)

Surprise!

Surprise!

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Last weekend, I pulled off a surprise party for Tom. I had partners in crime, especially my daughters, but I was feeling the pressure. Would one of us give it away? Would guests arrive on time?

My worries were for naught. Partygoers arrived promptly, parked where instructed (away from the house), and did everything they could to throw the birthday boy off the scent.

Now that the dust has settled I’ve been thinking about the nature of surprises, how people like to be in on them. So many of life’s sudden revelations are unpleasant ones. A call in the night. A rushed trip to the hospital.

To participate in a happy surprise is a gift. In fact, it’s as much a gift for the bystander as for the guest of honor, who may be in shock.

Does this mean I want to plan another surprise party anytime soon? No thank you!

Photo by Beverly Tomb

Lenten Favors

Lenten Favors

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Ash Wednesday has already done me a favor — it’s held off until after Valentine’s Day. I’ve not had my fill of chocolate, because I doubt that’s possible, but I’ve had enough to satisfy.

Today I’ll focus on the hopeful aspect of Lent, the fact that the word itself is derived from the Old English lencten or lengthen. Days are growing longer and lighter. Spring is coming.

Lent, like Advent, is a preparatory season. It’s a time to firm up, whittle down, strengthen the spiritual fibers that hold us (or at least me) together.

Since Lent has done me a favor. I’ll do it one, too. I’ll try to heed its call of growth.

Sublime

Sublime

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I woke to a foggy world. The snow still carpeting my backyard seems to be rising into the air, transforming itself from a solid to a gas, skipping the liquid state altogether. Is there a name for this?

Yes, there is. It’s sublimation, I learn, or relearn, since surely I was tested on this at some point in my schooling. Sublimation is the noun; sublime is the verb.

It doesn’t look sublime (adjective). It looks like a soggy mess. Tufts of ground cover emerge from the now-softened snowcrete. A lone limb lies helter-skelter under the witch hazel tree. It’s more Ash Wednesday than Shrove Tuesday.

Shrove Tuesday it is, though. Also not sublime, because this day of feasting precedes a day of fasting. On the other hand, I have some time before the boom is lowered. I think I’ll go downstairs now and have a piece of cake for breakfast. Now that is sublime.

Better Living Through Chemistry

Better Living Through Chemistry

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This morning, I learned how to make a bomb. I doubt I will ever put this knowledge to use, but if I find myself in need of propulsion in space, I’ll have a trick up my sleeve.

According to Andy Weir’s novel, The Martian, which I just finished, all I need is sugar, which I have far too much of in this house. I’ll also need a zero-g environment, more difficult to summon, true. But if I had such an environment, Weir explains, “sugar would float and the grains will separate, maximizing surface area. In a pure-oxygen environment, 16.7 million joules will be released for every kilogram of sugar used, releasing the explosive force of eight sticks of dynamite.”

I will soon stir some sugar into my tea.. The fact that I could turn these calories into an explosive device is, well, blowing my mind. Better living through chemistry. Or something like that.

Mars surface map, courtesy NASA.

Spoke Too Soon?

Spoke Too Soon?

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Yesterday I had coffee with a trail watcher, someone who lives near a Reston trail and knows its condition. “I’ve seen people walking their dogs on the trail,” she said. “I think it’s plowed.”

Did I speak too soon yesterday when I moaned about being trail starved? After all, I haven’t been driving around to all the trailheads in the area, checking their status. The Franklin Farm trails are certainly not plowed, and the Reston trails near Lake Anne were unreliable when I tried them last week.

So after we parted, with the odd snowflake flying in a blustery gray sky, I went in search of a nearby path to wander. And sure enough, one that wasn’t cleared last week was down to pavement.

How good it felt to amble among the trees again! There were a few stretches of black ice to avoid, but other than that, I was in business.