This moment from our "Christmas Eve" completely cracks me up.

The icicles wreathing

On trees in festoon

Swing, swayed to our breathing:

They're made of the moon.

(Elinor Wylie)

back from boise and back to santa barbara.

i'll be posting pictures from the trip this week, but here's one to start. i have to admit i like the muted colors of the winter world. this little squirrel was sitting perfectly on this long bare branch, like it wanted me to take its picture and so i did.

my mom bought me a wonderful little book of poems called 'the four seasons' and i'm reading the winter ones, though it is hard to imagine it is winter here. two nights ago we were laughing at the sheer piercing cold of the wind as we walked down the street in downtown boise and this afternoon, i drove past fields of carefully groomed green in the fields of camarillo. the trees are only just turning here. it seems they turn color more out of boredom and a need to change rather than real cold. ;-)

don't get me wrong. this isn't a complaint. i do like to see the world wrapped in white, though.

as emily dickinson wrote...

it makes an Even Face

of Mountain and of Plain--

unbroken Forehead from the East

unto the East again.

it reaches to the Fence--

it wraps it, rail by rail,

till it is lost in Fleeces --

it flings a Crystal Veil.