Friday morning: the thermometer outside the dining window read 10° F (-10° C). Somewhere during the previous days, genuine winter had crept in -- finally making its presence felt after weeks of complaints from Vermonters about unnervingly mild temperatures.
Saturday morning: snow began falling during the wee hours, continued as daylight replaced darkness, rendering everything white, quiet. Traffic strangely light on local roads, as if everyone had glanced out the window, seen what was happening, crawled back into bed. Montpelier, usually nicely busy on the first morning of the weekend, lay tranquil. Nearly-empty streets lay draped in thin, polite sheets of fresh snow, holiday decorations looking newly perked-up. People slowly appeared, by midday the pace had picked up. A couple of local hangabouts -- heavyset, dentally challenged types who often occupy streetside benches for hours at a time, smoking, saying hello to passersby -- were in place, on duty, ignoring cold and snow apart from the concession of a winter coat (left wide open).
Sunday -– left the house as the rising sun cleared the ridge of mountains to the east. Snow still fell, despite sunlight and blue sky, producing rainbows: one full out arch south of the sun, extending from white ground well up into blue sky, one vertical band of three colors north of the sun, one shaft of bright white light extending out from the top and bottom of the sun's disc. Snowdogs, putting on a year-end show. Drove into town, got sweaty at the gym, retreated to a cafe with wifi. Cranked the laptop, met up virtual-fashion with someone lovely from the other side of the pond (a particular someone currently bringing happiness to my boring little life) and went dancing. All that while the 3-D me sat in a booth sipping tea. Fun.
Monday, New Year's Day -- sky gray, everything not covered with tan, brown, black, muted green. The wee hours brought sleet, freezing rain. I'd left my car outside the garage, when I went out I found a big ice sculpture parked in the driveway. Morning temperatures hovered just under the freezing mark, cold enough to prolong the freezing rain until everything was covered with a sheet of thin ice, the world looking glazed with sugar. Afternoon temperatures hovered just above freezing -- warm enough to melt snow, producing mist (snow ghosts, some call them), then fog that rose from the valley, enveloping the house, eliminating all visibility. Everything quiet, nothing moving. Like being a big sensory deprivation chamber.
Yesterday, January 2. Wrote the new year's first checks, adapting to writing 2007 with no problem. Amazing. When darkness fell, the nearly-full moon rose over white countryside, the scene bright enough that long shadows from bare trees slanted across snow-covered terrain.
Something strange: normally after three or four days of being back stateside, my body adusts to the time difference, I gradually stop waking up at hideously early hours. Not this time around -- during the last fifteen days, my system has refused to capitulate, remaining stubbornly on Madrid time, waking me up at 4 a.m. every single stinking morning, me having to give up and get out of bed, knowing shuteye is finished for the night. Good thing I'll be back in Madrid tomorrow.
As I write this, brilliant sunshine pours in the windows, the sound of dripping snowmelt is loud in the eaves. I catch a taxi to the airport in a little over an hour, hop a flight first to Philly, then to Spain. A return that will come as a relief for two reasons: high-speed internet and sleep.
More once back on Spanish soil.
Be well.
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January, northern Vermont:
España, te echo de menos.
rws 4:03 PM [+]
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