I don’t know where the lake is that my parents called Silver Lake. It was a stop on the road somewhere, probably in California. I never saw the lake close up. It lay low within its banks and far beyond trees and reeds. We parked at a lonely picnic area, late in the day, tired and hungry from a long day’s drive, with miles more to go before we would stop again. We spread Mom’s oilcloth on a table, but the wind blew so hard we had to weight it with rocks, and the wind kept blowing my hair into my face while I ate. Paper plates, cups, and napkins had to be held tight, and I don’t recall but wouldn’t be surprised if some escaped and tumbled away in that wind. It made us all a little cranky to be so road weary and hungry and have to fight the wind.
None of that detracted from a sight, late in the day, of sunlight striking the slope of a nearby mountain. It shone through a faint haze just dense enough to make golden sunbeams slant onto the trees on that hillside in such an indescribable way I wanted to memorize the scene. For some reason it made my heart ache just a little, so sweet was that light. We held tightly to our tablecloth as we folded it, and drove away. The memory of that golden light has stayed with me for some forty years. I’ve looked for sunlight like that ever since and sometimes glimpsed it, always ever so fleeting.
Tomorrow is the vernal equinox, and that’s a little hard for me to believe right now. We’re used to getting May Gray and June Gloom here near the coast of Southern California, because of the coastal eddies. But this winter has hit us harder and later than usual. It doesn’t appear to want to leave yet. There was snow in the mountains just last week. Up the street, someone’s irises started to bloom a few days ago, but they shriveled over one cold night. Now they prepare to bloom again. Will they?
The cat still scrunches up against the wall heater each morning and evening, and she chases patches of sunlight coming in the windows during the day. A couple of days ago I watched her pat a bright spot on the carpet with a paw, then lie down on it, fur fluffed out. She’s an older cat, so perhaps she dramatizes the situation. Maybe I do, too. But this doesn’t feel like the day before spring to me. Not at all. We had a cold rain late in the day, with the clouds parting toward sunset. Maybe tomorrow will convince me. How’s the weather in your part of the world?
Linking the past days together— It’s Super Bowl Sunday, and I didn’t know. Isn’t that usually in January? I don’t pay attention to professional sports, and some years my only clue about when that event occurs is the date they tell you the winner of the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes will be announced, which doesn’t apply to me, since I don’t enter. If Ed McMahon shows up at my door it’s more likely to be about Neighborhood Watch, or because he just spoke to Johnny Carson and he’s heard I have an interest in contact with the other side. (more…)
