T.G.I.F. Just stay in bed…


Ukraine. Russian invasion. Wintery Mix followed by freezing rain. 28° F, feels like 18° F.  Best to just stay in bed, and ride it out.


Photo: DK @ Cove Island Park. Friday, Feb 25, 2022. 6:06 a.m. More photos from this morning here.

And then, there was Snow.

Come to my quietness I shall cover you with it,

like a white sheet that has blown all day in the sun,

like a mountain lake filled with spring,

it shall slip over you…

—  Diane di Prima, Selected Poems, 1956-1975


Notes:

  • Photos: DK @ Daybreak. 6:30 to 6:50 am, Feb 13, 2022. Snow & Snowing. 29° F, feels like 22° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. More photos from this morning here.
  • Poem, Thank you Beth @ Alive on All Channels.

Walking. Tilting towards Spring.

5:50 a.m.

Dark Sky read out: 40° F. 82% cloud cover.  

40° F? Come again? I close app, and re-open.

40° F? This is after two days of high’s in the 50’s. This being Feb 12. Not even mid-Feb.

I sit on the stoop, and lace up my boots.

Something ineffable has tilted toward spring. There’s a promise of warmth beneath the cold, a releasing of winter’s grip on the land. You can feel it.” (Katrina Kenison)

Sun rises, temperature warms rapidly.

The park begins to fill. [Read more…]

5″ snow. Feels like 1°. Wind gusts up to 43 mph.


Notes:

  • Photo: DK @ Daybreak. 5:55 a.m. January 29, 2022. 19° F, feels like 1° F. Snow, wind gusts up to 43 mph. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. Other photos from this morning here.
  • Snoopy via Mondoshop via thisisnthappiness

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

There is Something about being out and about and walking @ Daybreak as light snow falls.

And in a city of ~130,000, not a single set of tracks on any of the footpaths.

Just fresh fallen snow, silence, and me.

The snow has quietness in it; no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.” (Anne Sexton, All My Pretty Ones.)


DK @ Daybreak. 6:32 am, January 24, 2022. 25° F, feels like 15° F. Light Snow. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. More shots from this morning’s walk here.

Saturday Morning


DK @ Daybreak. 6:32 to 6:46 am, January 8, 2022. 19° F (-7 C), feels like 7° F (-14 C). Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.

T.G.I.F.

Snow had started falling from the Illinois sky, white crystallizations of water as pure as he felt… His thoughts had slowed to a happy medium, no slower than that, not yet. He stood for a moment on the sidewalk, amid the melting snowflakes, and wished the world could just stand still.

Jonathan Franzen, Crossroads: A Novel (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, October 5, 2021)


Photos: DK @ Daybreak. 6:15 to 6:435 am, January 7, 2022. 28° F, feels like 17° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. (More pictures from this morning here.)

Christmas Eve


First Snow @ Daybreak. 6:28 to 6:53 am, December 24, 2021. 29° F, feels like 24° F. (-2° C feels like -4° C). Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. (More shots from this morning @dkct25 on Instagram)

It’s been a long winter…


Hanover Bald Eagle Live Cams (Via Your Eyes Your Blaze Out)

Winter solitude – in a world of one color. The sound of wind.


Notes:

T.G.I.F.: It’s been a long week


Daybreak. Snow. 6:40 am, February 19, 2021. 29° F, feels like 19° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.

Daybreak. The Day After…


Photo: DK. Daybreak. Light Rain. 6:15 am. to 7:00 am, February 2, 2021. 33° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

Photos: DK @ Daybreak. Snow flurries. 6:05 am. to 6:28 am, February 1, 2021.  26° F, feels like 11° F, wind gusts up to 44 mph. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.

Lightly Child, Lightly.

And I also know a way of life that is soft pride, grace of movement, light and continuous frustration, that has a skill at aloofness that comes from a long and ancient path. Like a tiny sign of revolt an irony light and eccentric. There’s a side of life that’s like drinking coffee on a terrace in winter cold bundled up in wool.

I know a way of life that’s a light shadow unfurled to the wind and flapping lightly on the ground: a life that’s floating shadow, levitation and dreams in broad daylight: I live the richness of the earth.

Clarice Lispector, tr. by Elizabeth Lowe, “The Stream of Life” (Água Viva) 

 


Notes:

T.G.I.F.: 23° F feels like 13° F

 

 

Winter

 

 


Daybreak. December 17, 2020. 6:45 to 7:20 am. 24° F. Feels like 9° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford CT

Today’s Forecast: Rain. More Rain.

How lonely it is:

A winter world full of rain,

Rain raining on rain.

—  Richard Wright, from “Haiku: The Last Poems of an American Icon


Photo: DK. Daybreak. October 30, 2020. 6:37 am. Today’s Forecast: Rain. And more rain. 40° F, feels like 31 ° F. Wind Gusts up to 33 mph. Cove Island Park, Stamford CT

Sunday Morning (Feels like 21° F)

Q: How is the goodness of God manifested even in the clothing of birds and beasts?

A: Small birds, which are the most delicate, have more feathers than those that are hardier. Beasts that live in the icy regions have thicker, coarser coats than those that dwell in the tropical heat.

~ Jenny Offill, Weather: A Novel (Knopf, February 11, 2020)


Photo: European Starling by Ostdrossel

Truth

This is the blessing for the first garden tomato:
Those green boxes of tasteless acid the store
sells in January, those red things with the savor
of wet chalk, they mock your fragrant name.
How fat and sweet you are weighing down my palm,
warm as the flank of a cow in the sun.
You are the savor of summer in a thin red skin.

Marge Piercy, from “The Art of Blessing the Day” in The Art of Blessing the Day: Poems with a Jewish Theme. © Knopf, 1999.


Notes: Photo – Katharine Hanna with Organic vine-ripened tomatoes. Poem – A Year of Being Here

Saturday Morning: We “Were” Running

WE WERE RUNNING

in memory of Annie Zeke*

We were running up the slope of a hill,
that dog and I, an early winter rain
beginning to fall, wind-driven and sharp,
the clouds so black the edges of the hills
were etched and incandescent. That dog
and I were running, the two of us
apart and yet together, and even now,
in the solitude of a quiet hour—the days
and that dog long gone—I can follow
those far-blown traces of unexpected joy
and find my way back again: heart wild,
lungs filling with the breath of winter,
and that dog beside me running headlong
into the world without end.

~ Peter Everwine, “We Were Running” in A Small Clearing (Aureole Press, 2016)


Notes:

  • Photo: Susan’s Photo of our Zeke* (RIP) taken at Baker Park.
  • Poem: Thank you The Hammock Papers
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