Overcast

Last evening the clouds parted long enough for me to glimpse the thin, tilted smile of the waxing moon. Later, a few stars were revealed now and then, but those were the only lights in the sky. The storm has continued to drag its dark veil northward, joined a few times by flocks of migrating geese. The geese fly higher than did the birds who passed a couple weeks ago, and their calls are fainter, though higher in pitch. The darkness precluded any chance of seeing them.

The brevity of each appearance of stars indicated that the clouds were moving swiftly, yet even as dawn nears they are not exhausted. The storm must be quite broad. I enjoy watching clouds pass by night, finding in their movement a sense of drama. But, without the moonlight, this storm is like a play performed mostly in pantomime on a stage too dim -- and only the geese had any lines. A bit of thunder and lightning would have helped, but it is too early in the year for that. With spring, there will be thunderstorms, and I await them eagerly.

Tonight, despite all the clouds there was little rain -- a few desultory sprinkles sufficient to maintain the dampness, but too weak to give the downspout voice. Thus was the night's performance largely wasted. Perhaps the coming night will bring at least some small excitement. For now, I will hope that sleep will be more interesting than this relentless but silent passage of an all but arid storm.

Passages

Again tonight the sliver of moon makes brief appearances as clouds repeatedly unveil both it and, a few degrees away, the bright unwinking light of Venus. The day brought an occasional flood of sunlight, but the pearly clouds let fall little rain, and the two never coincided. I enjoy sun showers, and their failure to occur on a day so ripe for them was a disappointment. The cats were pleased enough, though, and spent some time lying on the porch, soaking up what little warmth the periods of sunshine offered. I examined the trees for signs of buds, though I know that they are unlikely to appear before March. It was the fact that the day looked so much like spring, despite the continued wintry sharpness of the air. The changes of light engendered by the moving mass of cloud, the lush, rain-fed green of lawns and bushes, the splashes of color lent by camellia and gladiolus blossoms, all conspired to remind me of April. A few weeks only, and the season will turn. Even tonight I hear the frogs croaking again, and I now and then catch on the chill breeze a hint of what might be the scent of spurge laurel, sharp and clean. As more geese depart, it is as though their calls summon winter to follow them, and that their flapping wings stir small eddies of air that will grow into the winds of March. I eagerly anticipate the change.