The weather term wintry mix makes me think of a salad without cucumbers and tomatoes, with carrots and cabbage and kale and lettuce of various curls and crinkles and hues, and perhaps an orange slice or two. On the street, though, with the wind in my face while climbing the hill, I’m not met by tangy vegetables and apple cider vinegar, but with rain and ice and snow. Clumps and grains of salt bounce off my coat, and I am thereby seasoned.
Daffodils in a hailstorm —
white shoes, yellow shawls.
Songs and Letters, March 28, 2008