I thought I liked snow.

I was supposed to fly out of boston at six tonight, have an hour-long layover in detroit, and get home around 11:30. that was the plan.

and then it snowed.

that’s what it looked like around 6 last night. it snowed from about two in the afternoon until 12 or so. it stopped for a couple of hours, but it’s been pretty close to constant.

I found out while I was on the bus from south station to the airport (i.e. already in boston) that my flight was canceled. I was kind of concerned before leaving, so I checked the forecast and it said that it wasn’t supposed to keep snowing tonight in boston or detroit.

lies.

oh well. it could be worse; initially when I was trying to reschedule at the counter she was talking like I wouldn’t be able to leave until monday, which reduced me to tears. I’ll take a night in the airport over being stranded in new england for a full day.

I think it’s time for a nap.

today, I almost bled to death.

I guess that’s not technically true, since I probably wasn’t in danger of losing my life. I got my thumb at work today while I was dicing potatoes, and the cut wouldn’t stop bleeding no matter what I did… basically making it impossible to accomplish anything for the last hour I was at work. finally I got it to stop long enough to get some liquid bandage on it, so now it’s good. it was kind of ironic that what is likely the least serious injury I’ve ever incurred incapacitated me for an hour. I slipped out by the frozen yogurt machine today and whacked my arm on a corner of something and I think the bruise from that (which began to appear immediately after I fell) hurts worse than my thumb.

I woke up this morning to a world of white… not only was snow covering the ground, but it was also falling — giant flakes, thick in the air. I took the interstate to work this morning instead of driving the back way. at that point just past Montrose where you can basically see the whole city I looked out and all I could see was the snow. pretty amazing. “this is the poem of the air” — that Longfellow guy knew what he was talking about. ;]

I’m running almost purely on caffeine today, since I got about 4 hours of sleep last night. and that is entirely my own fault for staying out so late. but despite the tiredness I feel, I am also really refreshed. there are some cruddy things going on right now, and my heart’s not quite at peace. but I got to spend some time with this girl last night and, among other things, genuinely laugh. it was good. on that note, if you click on that link, there’s a rather interesting video containing some of that laughter.

to end, a new discovery which will surely be an all-time favorite.

The Waking
by Theodore Roethke

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

I absolutely adore snow.

and this poem is amaaaaazing.

Snow-Flakes
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.