The snow transforms the ordinary into the magical. I came around the corner into the alley and discovered these DC trash cans, looking now like a row of fantastic rich desserts. Or maybe jolly gnome houses.
Tag: Woodley Park
The Tomes They Are A-Changin’
This may be a little cryptic. It’s my response to a recent meeting held at the much-loved local library, in which unwelcome developments present and future were laid out before us. Despite its being held during a snowstorm, the meeting was well-attended by many unhappy patrons.
Snowed In
The sun came out today, so my daughter and I went to sketch the interesting heaps of snow in the alley behind the house. Well, it may have been sunny, but the wind blew snow continuously and exasperatingly from the rooftops onto our sketchbooks. My daughter had wisely chosen colored pencils; I had a pen, and the ink alternately froze on the tip and bled when it hit snowflakes. I have renewed respect for all painters of snowy landscapes.
Dad
Poop-Glo
There are probably other uses I haven’t even thought of yet.
Carolyn
Visiting the Hair Salon
I recently went to get my hair cut and I was fascinated by what was being done to the hair of those around me. All I ever get is a cut and blow dry so I am clueless about the other rich possibilities. I began to wonder how our fellow beings on other planets shape, color, and decorate the substances that grow out of their bodies. Is this a “universal” phenomenon?
Perhaps she was not actually using roasted red pepper hummus (it sure looked like it) but I bet that would make a great conditioner.
Jean-Claude
Claude
Wild
When the news is truly terrible and you have sent off your donation and listened with awe and respect to those hastening selflessly to the rescue, and you are wondering what, what to do next, there can be a kind of hope in observing, after the overwhelming catastrophes of nature, its small surprises. Like the downy woodpecker that just showed up on our urban patio, and the juvenile Cooper’s hawk (!) on the telephone pole in the alley behind the house. Although the innocent grub and the songbird would undoubtedly regard these as catastrophes.
Mom’s and Aunt Bett’s “other” birthday