Pale Queen of the Silent Night

I have spent most of my nights this past week working the graveyard shift. Definitely not a problem for me for I was born under the sign of Cancer, hence a child of the moon. I bide my time until the dusk, knowing that once the sun descends to another land I and my fellow creatures of the night can enshroud ourselves within the soothing silence and blissful solitude bequeathed upon those who prefer the shadows to the light.

“I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.”
Vincent Van Gogh 

Curious to why this shift is called graveyard I did a quick search and found two points of view. The first site stated that years ago people could be mistakenly pronounced dead, resulting in their grave (pun intended) misfortune to find themselves buried alive. Someone came up with the brilliant idea to furnish caskets with bells so the horror- stricken hopefully temporary grave dwellers could alert those hired for this extremely vital duty to hastily dig them back up to the land of the living. They kept vigil day and night, working the graveyard shift. A more modern explanation of the term states that “your skin is clammy, there's sand behind your eyeballs, and the world is creepily silent, like the graveyard.” As one who has worked this shift off and on for years I prefer the former not only for its colorful slant and historical value but also because I don’t appreciate the latter’s view that my skin is clammy. So not true.

I stand watch while my residents sleep. I “work” alone and welcome this respite from the hustle and bustle of my usual 2pm to 10pm shift. I keep busy with various tasks, but at a much slower pace for my physiology has naturally slowed down its pace. And when I start to feel confined I step outside and find solace in the grandeur of Father Sky and bathe in the restorative power of Mother Earth. During Tuesday’s wee hours I was gifted with a frozen concoction that hung from the trees like dazzling crystals. Wednesday early morn brought me teeny tiny snowballs from the Sky that settled on the Earth like tiny individual pearls (not hard like ice pellets but soft as snow). Thursday arrived sprinkling the black pavement with glittering specks of diamond dust along with the eerie keening/barking of a pack of coyotes in the distant hills. Tonight I sit at home enjoying a wondrous spectacle of soft snow tumbling from the Sky, blanketing everything in a velvety cloak of pristine white. Tomorrow it will become sullied by cars and snow blowers but I will remember tonight.

An Answer to Sarah's Question

Sunspot Sarah

As we  journeyed along a southwestern Wisconsin highway amidst brown lifeless fields  one chilly, bleak and foggy January day a few years back, my niece Sarah, a Floridian, looked at me through her designer sunglasses (despite the gray skies) and asked dubiously, “How can you stand living up here?” I don’t recall my answer; I probably mumbled something profound such as, “I don’t know, it’s what I’m used to."

As I become older I have pondered this question many times, particularly this time of year. I answer thus: I choose to remain in a land that encompasses the four seasons. Each season possesses its own unique enchantments. Winter, in my mind, expresses itself with austerity along with majesty. The sunsets are nothing less than majestic; gazing at the bare black tree branches silhouetted against a sky adorned in glowing oranges, pinks, and lavenders has mesmerized me to the extent that I seek out that time of day. And it blesses me. The Wisconsin countryside we viewed that gray January day, well, I have seen that same countryside cloaked in a glistening mantle of snow, displaying hues of blue under a full winter moon. I am humbled by the sight. The sight of snow descending from the sky, whether tumbling playfully or dangerously plummeting, always excites me on some level even though I know treacherous driving and strenuous shoveling will follow. It’s so worth it for the sight of fresh fallen snow reposing on the ground and blanketing pine trees, along with the fresh crispness of the air, does certainly take one’s breath away while renewing one’s spirit.

By the time February rolls around most of us are longing for spring; cabin fever has set in along with a yearning to catch a glimpse of green. February can fool us, giving us a brief respite from the biting winds and freezing temps, a fickle month that we know well. It won’t be until we are into March that we will finally sight the purple and golden crocuses peeking from the snow. And as the days march towards April milder air prevails and the sight of tiny buds emerging like pimples on the branches of trees gives us confidence that spring has finally arrived. With the appearance of hearty tulips and genial daffodils we know the days are dutifully numbered until fragrant and luscious lilacs abound. And that assuredly proclaims spring. The scents and warmer temps seduces even the most hardened Midwesterner to ease up and smile for no particular reason other than it’s just great to be alive.

These past years spring has hurled into summer. These are lazy hazy days where the sun doesn’t set till it has kissed each and every living thing. Kids rule during this season; from sunup to sundown they chase everything from toads to fireflies. Rules are lifted for both young and old; vacations rule. The trees stand sentry dressed in their green garb, giving sanctuary to squirrels, birds and any creature weary from the heat of the day. People up here spend days and nights relishing the river; boating, fishing, or just watching it roll on by. And smack dab in the middle of the season many gather on the north side of town to observe a spectacular display of fireworks. Some party a bit too much, but then they play as hard as they work. And towards the end of July we begin to notice that the sun does not hang around as long as it did just a few weeks before. And too soon the stores are plied with school supplies and aisles of fresh off the truck back to school garb.

Even though the days can still emit heat hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk, the nights start to cool down and we smell fall in the air. The aroma of the earth along with overripe produce and flora arouse in us instinctively the surge towards this season. Our bodies and minds begin to wind down; we go back to school or buckle down to a more arduous work mode. Amidst this internal change we are given a spectacular external display as the trees burst into specters of gold, red and yellow. Pumpkin along with various other squash dishes appear on tables and us cooks search for new hearty soup recipes. And as the days grow shorter and cooler we savor the crisp morning air and at night gaze at star studded skies. We have gorged on summer and now, like all of nature we are slowing down, and are glad for it. We hunker down and look forward to the hoopla of the ensuing holidays and know that they will pass too quickly and the cycle will begin again.