Saturday of the forty-seventh week of the COVID Quarantine

 It's one of those times when I feel that I am talking into a void... not even talking well to myself.

We are expecting "significant snow" starting tomorrow and into the beginning of the week. I am ready for it!

Carolina Wren    photo by Robyn Allen

Here is a poem by Dylan Thomas, in the beginning of the first year of World War 1:

"In the sniffed and poured snow on the tip of the tongue of the year
That clouts the spittle like bubbles with broken rooms,
An enamoured man alone by the twigs of his eyes, two fires,
Camped in the drug-white shower of nerves and food,
Savours the lick of the times through a deadly wood of hair
In a wind that plucked a goose,
Nor ever, as the wild tongue breaks its tombs,
Rounds to look at the red, wagged root."

-  Dylan Thomas, January, 1939

Snowy Owl   Cape May January 2021