It's been awhile since I've posted any collected tweets (since summer? really?). Since there's no getting away from winter here in the snow-maddened Northeast, I thought I'd post a few so far, from November to now, in case you've missed them.
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NOVEMBER
Before she goes, the sun kisses the top of each tree like a child, leaving them flushed and beaming.
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Wind-cast leaves suspended in the wet day like a shaken snow globe, slowly settling.
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Elephantine cumulus lumbering just overhead. I feel like a warthog among them at the water hole.
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The wind beats a dead horse. The leaves are all fallen.
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Dwindling leaves reveal sparrows within the hedge, like finding bird print wallpaper under peeling layers in an old house.
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The sound of wind on the skylight like a cat in a paper bag - silent waiting interrupted by sudden, unseen mad pouncing.
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From the 25th floor bar, we saw an orange satellite dish hung on a building. Later, it had lifted, bright and white. Satellite indeed.
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DECEMBER
Before takeoff, when the plane stops on the tarmac it rocks a little, like a cat on its haunches preparing to pounce.
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Thin slip of moon in stark twilight restores my awe of winter.
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Pale moon full in earthshine, cupped like an egg in a bright crescent shell.
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Smitten by the winter sun's sidelong glance.
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You know how some men look good bald and some don't? Same with trees.
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December night, the city's trees wrapped in lights like black velvet display hands glittering with jewels.
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Over Minnesota: trees imprint long shadows on snow like ink on paper, like they all blew over in a great gust and sprung up again in place.
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Thin pink lens over the curvature of horizon. Below, a lake bears the profile of a woman kissing the shore, her hair dissolved in clouds.
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Landing in Boston, 4:15pm: the sun a fire ruby set in a brushed silver ring.
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Winter dusk daubed with pink like the tinted cheeks in an old black & white photograph
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JANUARY
Anemic sun, not wasting energy to climb high for such a short stay.
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Sunlight as through white eggshell, albuminous, I'm reluctant to crack out into the world this Monday morning.
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Creation myth: winter-rutted roads cracked like a crocodile's back, our undercarriages sacrificed to the hungry deity.
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Wrought-iron shadows compose riffs on the staff of a brick walkway.
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Snow coating bare branches like marshmallows at a campfire.
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After the snowstorm, white blossoms in the pear trees.
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Winter morning pages: white sky, white ground.
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Snow turns hedge to circus: roaring white tiger, dancing dog, bucketful of feathers.
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Early morning sun sets down a sparkling blanc de noirs on the fresh white tablecloth of snow.
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Blue marble horizon at dusk, earth's blue eye shutting later every day.
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All winter I've hailed the subtle hues, soft light. But today I want it to break open like a piñata, spilling a fiesta of color and warmth.
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I was searching online this morning for light therapy boxes. Then the sun lit up the fresh fallen snow. The whole world's a light box.
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Lovely - and such elegant photographs.
When are you producing your Book of Tweets?
Posted by: Relatively Retiring | Wednesday, February 02, 2011 at 01:36 PM
Thanks, RR. Glad you liked them. :-)
Posted by: Leslee | Wednesday, February 02, 2011 at 09:24 PM