Monday, March 2, 2009
Our snow
Once the sidewalks seemed more or less scraped, I went walkabout.
The neighbours' stairs (same house where the raccoon lives...wonder where he is?).
Congress Street.
The first of three snowploughs in convoy...
Cobble Hill Park.
There was no one else. He was just throwing snowballs for himself.
Trees like dancers in the snow.
Brownstone icing.
Bike going nowhere. But deliverymen were biking with bags of lunch for shut-ins.
The US Mail was being delivered.
And small sleds found the salted patches rough going.
Boerum Hill less scraped and consequently prettier.
New York was cold. Windchill of 12'F/-11'C. My hands hurt and my candy-striped umbrella blew inside-out.
The slate-coloured Gowanus with sleeping boats and paddling ducks. And a catalpa tree hibernating with dreams of lilac spring.
The Gowanus garden's bottle terraces smoothed into cream.
No news.
Little girl blue with cold.
Cadman Plaza, and the Korean War Veterans' park.
Brooklyn Promenade and a steel blue Manhattan.
Tugs still working on the pewter waters. Lady Liberty holding a hot water bottle.
The neighbours' stairs (same house where the raccoon lives...wonder where he is?).
Congress Street.
The first of three snowploughs in convoy... 
Cobble Hill Park.
There was no one else. He was just throwing snowballs for himself. Trees like dancers in the snow.
Brownstone icing.
Bike going nowhere. But deliverymen were biking with bags of lunch for shut-ins.
The US Mail was being delivered.And small sleds found the salted patches rough going.Boerum Hill less scraped and consequently prettier.New York was cold. Windchill of 12'F/-11'C. My hands hurt and my candy-striped umbrella blew inside-out.
The slate-coloured Gowanus with sleeping boats and paddling ducks. And a catalpa tree hibernating with dreams of lilac spring.
The Gowanus garden's bottle terraces smoothed into cream. No news.
Little girl blue with cold.
Cadman Plaza, and the Korean War Veterans' park.Brooklyn Promenade and a steel blue Manhattan.Tugs still working on the pewter waters. Lady Liberty holding a hot water bottle.Long walk, the latter part with stinging snow blown into awkward places between the scarf and the nose.
Now, scent of allspice, spinach and lamb melting together in a bredie; cat asleep, fridge humming; daffodils yellow on the table.
Rob Small, one seed at a time
Then my head flips immediately to all that is not extraordinarily beautiful: the suffering and mayhem and cruelty. The hunger and greed.
As quickly I think of Rob Small, of Abalimi Bezekhaya, whom I met in Cape Town. He has just come back from Zimbabwe, where he was taking Abalimi's mission to people in that benighted country. He teaches how to grow food and helps with the resources to do so.
While we lie and worry, or hide, he goes, and does.
For info on how to send Abalimi money, click here. Or here for USA and UK residents.
As quickly I think of Rob Small, of Abalimi Bezekhaya, whom I met in Cape Town. He has just come back from Zimbabwe, where he was taking Abalimi's mission to people in that benighted country. He teaches how to grow food and helps with the resources to do so.
While we lie and worry, or hide, he goes, and does.
For info on how to send Abalimi money, click here. Or here for USA and UK residents.
Fire and ice
A moment of solipsism. Vince just posted his next desert installment.Seeing pictures he took of me on that red sand under that summer sky in that southern desert is in such stark contrast to this morning's -4'C experience of kicking through the cold snow in Brooklyn to take pictures of the Gowanus Garden in its winter clothes. To be able to experience such extremes, and beautiful ones, within a matter of weeks is extraordinary, and lucky.
March snowstorm
Yesterday afternoon in near- but above-freezing air, I dug up some lilies to clean out their pot (either Dunyazade or Black Beauty, I forget). I broke up a broken terra cotta pot and tidied, inpected the fig for signs of life, and sniffed the air for promised snow.It started to fall late last night, and by this morning:
Oh, happy day! I can hear the moan of a snowplough somewhere near. Not for us the paralysis of London under 3". The terrace has 10" by my measuring, at 10am in the morning and flakes are still floating from the sky.
I can hear the scrape of shovels on the sidewalk, and when they are clear I will venture out into wonderland. 
There is a greater-horned snow rhino on my stone table. 
An hour ago. 
Inside, snug as the proverbial bug.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Gowanus Garden
OK, I'll say it again: my favourite New York garden. Showing no hint of its summer self. I still haven't met Kirstin, being too shy to say hello the one time I saw her digging. Her boyfriend, more approachable when he was watering the sunflowers last year, told me about the problems with dogs messing the beds up, and I see there are now little fences around the edges.
Compare today's chilly graffiti above with the August-rich sunflowers I sent last summer to the Gowanus Lounge.
The wine bottle terracing has been replaced and cleaned up.
Good curves.
A lot of good dinners...
Can't wait to see it in spring.This is what it looked like in June 2006:
And now...snow. Tonight. Hopefully.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)