Dogs of Winter

I can't believe how fast the temperature has dropped tonight. The premature spring may be nipped in the bud. Had the lovely clouds which draped the sky yesterday hung about, they'd have held in some of the day's moderate warmth, but the night sky has been clear and glittering with icy starlight. The deer came by about three o'clock, barely visible without the moon. After the sound of their hooves died in the darkness up the block, I heard the bark of a dog they disturbed.

It reminded me of a recurring dream I had many years ago, in which I stood on a grassy hillside, looking at a single light in the distance while a dog barked, and in the dogs bark were words I couldn't make out, but I had the disconcerting feeling that they were of immense importance, and that something terrible would happen if I didn't understand the message he was trying to send me. I always woke from that dream feeling lost and exhausted, and I never found out what the dog's bark meant. Now, the sound of a dog barking in the night will often bring back that feeling. Strange, how an old dream, echoing in reality, can make one fear to sleep.

Gray Day. Picture with Sunlight.

Withering camellias are dropping their petals and the sky is marbled gray, lending the still day an elegiac quality. Fresh leaf buds have appeared on most of the trees, but the air is cold. It is as though three seasons are coexisting. It's Sprallter in California. Or is it Falltering? Whatever it is, I wish it would make up its mind.

A couple of weeks ago I posted a picture of Concow Reservoir, the very small lake which lies at the end of the old flume along the west bank of the Feather River. That was the view toward the north. I also have a view toward the east. Cut for size.

( Concow Reservoir and the Sierra Foothills )