BAT-SHIT CRAZY FLIES AND WINTER BLUES

Winter Blues - view from our kitchen

          

Sunrise Behind the Ridge - my studio waiting for me

          I awoke this morning in the semi-darkness, a feint glow emanating from the bathroom directly across from our bedroom. We leave the light on during the night to attract the flies that have inundated our bedroom during the daylight hours. They look like the common house fly and seem to mysteriously propagate each day from within the cracks of the windowsills. The lifespan of a fly is approximately 28 days, however, these flies are bat-shit-crazy and seem to die within a day, of course they have a little help from bat-frenzy-Lenny armed with a giant fly-swatter. And of course, I leave the window open to help them unknowingly commit suicide outside as they embark into the freezing outdoors, their last efforts being lying on their backs in the snow and creating snow-angels with their wings. Ah yes, wonderful boyhood memories of lying on one's back in the fresh snow, perhaps even while the snow is still falling, big snow flakes gently landing on my face or tongue as I tried catching them with my mouth.

          Snow is a wonderful creation although it's beauty and silence can kill just as deadly as a poisonous passionate kiss. For the past week, the temperature slightly above zero degrees feels balmy. Thankfully the snow has finally disappeared from the roofs and tiny rivers of icy water can be seen everywhere wandering across the yard, alongside the driveway and road before disappearing into the snowbanks. The snowbanks that were so high from the plows of winter they were impossible to see over are now miniatures of themselves and at the rate the snow is melting, perhaps within another week, there will hard be any remaining.

          We have lived in Fosterville, NB for eight winters and up until the last couple of years, I always cleared the driveway and the walkways with a snow-shovel, albeit was hard work for an old man because sometimes they needed clearing 3 or 4 times a day. Last year, I managed a little shoveling but this year absolutely nothing - the cancer treatments eating up my energy. I expect since winter appears to be retreating like a losing army, I will soon have to settle up my bill with the person we hired to plow the driveway and yard. And, since I'll soon be having an operation, possibly two if the first one is successful, I expect come next winter, I won't be clearing any driveways or walkways, sadly, perhaps never again. 

          This winter is the first winter I've barely been outside, except for when it was necessary. I miss my walks through the forests, along the roads and on the edge of the nearby frozen lake. The hush is as glorious as a baby's breath upon a person's cheek and the beauty of a fresh snowfall untouched by any tracks can be equally glorious. The colours of winter may not be as refreshing as spring or as outrageous as autumn but within their subtleties an abundance of shiny prisms sparkle as brightly as the evening stars. I've always enjoyed winters whether they have been short or unseemly lengthy but then, unlike many, I've been fortunate to have a nice warm place to live - the heat and crackle of a fire within a wood stove positively heavenly!

          Today, I will begin another painting, a moonlit evening as the waves roll in and caress a distant beach - perhaps a longing for the sea that once it's into your blood, it's there forever. Don't get me wrong, although I'm definitely land-locked, on the edge of the wilderness, this wild land touches the heart and I feel at home as well. I'm thankful that my lack of energy still allows me the great pleasure of dabbing my brush into a gob of paint and splashing it across the canvas, each stroke creating a fulfillment of my vision. And, as you the reader can tell, it allows my fingers to lightly tap dance across a keyboard and write my thoughts and feelings...peace.

      

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