Clouds: Ragtag Tuesday Daily Prompt

Like Margaret, who provides CLOUDS as this week’s Ragtag Tuesday prompt, I prefer fluffy, white clouds scudding through the sky, perhaps calling to mind a bunny or a kitty, or reflecting in placid waters.

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But I was sure that most of the cloud photos in my own files would be of dark, forbidding, foreboding clouds, full of drama and threat. Maybe it’s a reflection of my mood, in the face of news of my country and our world?

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When I actually went looking I was surprised and pleased to find that, in reality, most of my cloud photos are dramatic, yes, but with the drama of sun dispelling darkness, of light peeping through, of hope.

Let’s be hopeful . . .

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Serried: Ragtag Daily Prompt

My blog pal, Margaret, participates in a daily prompt for photos and writing and other forms of expression.

Her first choice of prompts is the word “serried,” and the word and the woman have inspired me to re-visit some photos from a trip to Scotland and Cornwall.

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Serried foxgloves in Morrab Gardens in Penzance

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Serried flags in Penzance

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Serried highland dancers; pint-sized versions

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Serried barrels of whisky at Laphroaig, Islay.

A Chest, Full of Metals

 

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Americans of a certain age will remember this guy. Mark Spitz won an unprecedented 7 gold medals at the 1972 Olympics. And showed them off nicely!

I’ve never won an Olympic medal of any color. But I am a medalist in my own right. Or should I say a metalist?

I have a chestful of my own metals, more precious to me, not to mention more useful, than Mark’s. (And I’m wearing a shirt. You’re welcome.)

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I’ve been thinking for a while about collecting every pair of scissors in the house, just for chuckles. Like most of you, I probably have more than I need and, in spite of that, I seem never to find a pair when and where I need them.

I have taken to wearing a small pair around my neck and have many of them on handwoven ribbons. They are sharp and pointy and it still took me too long this winter to figure out why all my knit shirts had a hole in the middle of the front . . . 

A friend solved my problem with a length of tubing that I cut to fit every single pair of the small scissors!

So, in all, in one household of two people, we have at least 27 pairs of scissors.

We have the kind-of-crappy-yet-useful scissors with the plastic handles of many colors.

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We have the “good” scissors, the kind my mother used to threaten us kids never to use on anything but fabric.

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And we have my favorite small scissors, all pretty and many of them “good,” with a nice representation of storks.

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If I count right, that’s 27. Then there are the ones that turned up as soon as I finished taking the photos, and the ones that will turn up tomorrow . . .

And, as evidence that great minds really do think alike, Margaret recently posted about her collection of scissors—her collection is impressive!

Are you sitting there thinking, “I could top that!”? Go ahead. Write your own post and prove it!

 

Post Script to Ice Out

I chortled and cheered yesterday about the ice leaving our bay on Lake Champlain.

I marveled at the movement of the water.

And my, how that water moved, driven by high winds, throwing wave upon wave to our seawall.

We had ice out . . . but also lots of ice ON!

All our red flower pots, the small fire pit, the limbs I’ve been clearing from the lawn, and every blade of grass on the lawn . . . all glowing, encased in ice.

Welcome to spring in the North Country of upstate New York . . . .

Ice Out!

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Snowdrops and daffodils. Robins and geese. Lambs and maple sap running and yellow-green buds on the weeping willow.

All lovely signs of spring.

Of all the signs that winter is over, though, one makes me happiest, makes my heart soar and loosens the tensions in my upper back.

And that is when the ice goes out of our bay. Finally. It is not the first sign of spring, by any means, but it is, for me, the most welcome.

In the late autumn, it seems the ice comes in quickly. One day the water will be slushy and, seemingly the next day, ice fishers will be out drilling holes and catching perch.

But once it’s formed that ice stays and stays . . . and stays.

The larger sections of Lake Champlain, areas known around here as the “broad lake,” might stay open all winter. But our little bay always freezes and for months we miss the sounds of water and the sight of water birds and any sign of movement.

This year, the ice held on in Monty’s Bay until yesterday.

In the morning, solid ice covered the entire bay.

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But the temperatures reached 50F, we’d had a good bit of rain, and the winds were gusting to 50 miles an hour, from just the right direction.

At 4 in the afternoon, I could see a dark band across the way—and movement.

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The band grew and widened, and water flowed near our seawall.

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By 7, three hours after I saw the first band, the ice was almost completely gone—big floes moving and breaking up.

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I could see birds wheeling above the open water and waves forming and movement. That’s the difference—there’s movement, where there had been none for months.

It will be a good while before we see kingfishers or sailboats or children playing in these waters. But that isn’t the point.

The point is, it’s official—spring is here!

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One day–what a difference!!