There’s a bus stop on my front lawn. I think about this often — how in suburbia, neighbors might post “keep off the grass” signs, but here in my small city, the neighborhood literally comes to me. It’s just one of countless small, cool things I’ve found in semi-urban living that I’ve been reflecting on lately.
Is it naive to have hope right now? Is it just the daffodils and forsythias, explosions of yellow and green that seemed to appear overnight, tricking me into thinking things will eventually get better? Are warm breezes carrying the scent of an awakening earth leading me astray? I don’t know. It’s important to recognize hard times and be realistic about the world as it is, but I also find myself, again and again, coming across things that give me hope.
Everybody’s seeing bald eagles this winter, it seems, but me. We have a bobcat at school (promptly named “Bob”) that’s exploring campus a bit too much for its own good. Hawks circle the skies above our house, and herons wade in the pond up the street. When I was a kid in the ’70s and ’80s, we didn’t see wildlife like this.
Lately, I’ve been waging a losing battle with winter. The week before last, no matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the bone-deep chill that came with the polar vortex’s bitter cold and howling winds. We even had to shut off our upstairs water for days to keep the pipes from freezing. In New England, it’s easy to see winter as an adversary during times like these – until I remember that my house has been standing since 1862, the year the U.S. first started printing paper money.
Happy New Year! The days are starting to get longer, but winter feels like it is just getting started in New England. Nature feels dormant, but I’m glad that birds still call on us, the moss is still green on hillside rocks, and the cats are less aloof now that they want some body heat.