Ah, Winter

January

The days are short, 

The sun a spark

Hung thin between 

The dark and dark.

Fat snowy footprints 

Track the floor,

And parkas pile up

Near the door.

The river is

A frozen place

Held still beneath

The trees' black lace.

The sky is low, 

The wind is grey.

The radiator

Purrs all day.

John Updike

Don't be fooled; the vision at my house is much more like the images in the second stanza of the poem than the lovely photo.   I would add to the picture: puddles on the garage floor from snowy cars,  wood trash and ashes near the fireplace, and extra floor mats to prevent those wet, snowy footprints.  I give up.  In addition, it's thawing today: grey mist, dripping water, puddles that will refreeze into sheets of ice, and dirty snow.

I spent the morning going through excess STUFF in the basement around my studio area.  The progress is not even noticeable.  I'll keep going.  The plan is to buy some new storage furniture to neaten it up, but first I had to throw out boxes, shopping bags, and tissue paper saved after Christmas.  And that's just the beginning.

I hope in the time left this afternoon I can do something creative, in the spirit of Bad Art. Everyday.  Click on the button for the link to Libby's blog where she explains this philosophy.  It's not what you think.  Join in!