One-Sentence Journal, Week Seventy-Seven

The “still not tired of winter” edition.

  1. 01/08/2017:  The eery skeleton of the old mill where my dad worked for 40+ years looks post-apocalyptic viewed during blizzard-like conditions, in the dark, windshield cloudy and coated with fragments of ice at its outer edges, snow falling through my high beams as I coast to a halt at the stop sign facing the old guard shack.
  2. 01/09/2017:  Arrived home in late evening, moonlight sparkling on snow sculpted by wind, then stood out under the stars for many deep breaths after filling the bird feeders by porch light.
  3. 01/10/2017:  File with favorite sounds of winter: the rattling clatter and rhythmic clang, like sleigh bells, of passing tires wrapped in chains.
  4. 01/11/2017:  I wish the adorable little Hungarian partridges who hang out and burrow through the snow under my bird feeders would understand they don’t need to panic and scramble madly away every time I open the front door, because I love having them and they are more than welcome.
  5. 01/12/2017:  By nightfall, an afternoon spent chewing up and swallowing words before they can wreak havoc tends to leave one thirsty, weary, and a little stomach upset.
  6. 01/13/2017:  An afternoon so sunny the snow reflects the blue of the cloudless sky, and the pieces of frost that trickle free of the treetops float and sparkle in the air so that the saunter up my front walkway is like a stroll through clouds of glitter.
  7. 01/14/2017:  Two young girls on a tobaggon are dragged madly down the snowy street by a pair of gangly, rambunctious dogs with wild grins on their faces.

Author: Chris

Chris La Tray is a writer, a walker, and a photographer. He is an enrolled member of the Little Shell Tribe of Chippewa Indians and lives in Missoula, MT.

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