From one tree...

to the next.

Perspective on winter.

Stepping out.

Weather or Not!

       We have plenty of sunshine here in Cody, but for a couple of weeks in each season, we can expect wind.  Wind that topples signs, and branches and nearly blows you off your feet.  Wind that grabs the car door and almost jerks it out of your hand, or at least makes it a fight to open and then close the door.  Not the kind of wind that you have to hold up your saliva-dampened finger so you can detect it's direction,  but the kind that twirls you around and propels you unwillingly in the direction it's going.  Wind that throws you off-balance, and makes you stagger, while it takes your breath away.  Wind that makes you feel like Superwoman for getting into your car in one piece, never mind the hairdo, while somewhat wryly checking the damage in the rear-view mirror.  

      A garage without a garage door opener is still a garage, for which I am grateful, so I may only need to check the temperature to see how many layers to put on for the couple of miles jog down to the bridge and back, or deciding it's too windy, go work out at the rec center.  Overhearing the upcoming weather report when I'm at the post office or grocery store, by listening to people talk about weather predictions or chatting briefly with the store clerk, usually is sufficient.  

    Occasionally, Jerry, the plumber, wants to knows whether to wear long johns, or asks me to check the weather report if we're thinking of going away, leaving our customers without a plumbing and heating tech.  Last night, however, Walgreen's posted a storm warning in large red letters on a lighted sign outside their store, letting us know to expect severe winter storm conditions from 1 p.m. to 11 p.m. 

   I was well aware of the weather, a swirling blizzard of icy snow needles piercing my eyelids, lips, cheeks, stinging my hands, and whipping cold, icy flakes around my legs.  Facing a headwind that resisted forward momentum, I leaned into it, head bowed.  Holding my breath and buffeted by gusts, I crossed the parking lot, then the wind tried to tear the car door out of my hands and slam it against my legs, while whirling snow left me gasping and blinded.  I was relieved to see the Walgreen sign to know that it wasn't expected to last very long! 

   Speaking with a potential renter this week, who moved here in October from Spokane, Washington,  I assured him that a person does get used to the dryness and the brown, barren landscape, but it takes awhile.  It was a good reminder last night of what I've learned about weather in Wyoming... sunny, harsh, extreme, sometimes even vicious, and quickly changeable.  For a few moments, as we talked, I felt homesick and yearned for a milder climate and evergreen trees.  Pining wistfully for the familiar, spreading, lacy branches of a thick, green forest, I longed for the moist air that gently soothes the skin and for the privacy of the lush growth that shields the neighbor's possessions from view.  

     However, living in Wyoming, as I do, there is a certain challenge and pleasure finding that elusive beautiful thing, the unexpected treat for the eye during the long, barrenness of a high-plains winter. Stopping the car for the bright, colorful pheasant feeding next to the tall blades of textured winter-beige grass, and the rough bark of a clump of gray-blue sagebrush, where  he hid from me, as I turned back, before remembering that it would make me late to try to find him and take his picture.  


    Noting the misty white cloud partly blending with the snowy tip of a blue mountain peak, a high altitude snowstorm was breath-taking in a completely different way from the storm that raged last night down at our level. The landscape turns from summer's blue sky and mountains, green fields, and white clouds, to fall's golden shadows and purple mountain majesty, then to blue and white with an underlayment of chilly, textured, enduring browns and rust for the winter.  Clouds change shapes, and shades, every sunrise and sunset different from the last one, highlighting mountain contours, deepening and lengthening shadows. The  palette unfolds, and I'm relieved that the tempest has stilled, for now.

Cold Breakfast

The light coating of snow belies the
 ferocity of last night's blizzard!

Fat cat steps out...a chilly pause!

Rare gray skies...didn't spend much time looking out the window!

As a writer, you have control of the words you put on the page.

 But once that manuscript leaves your hand, you give control to the reader. As a director, you are limited by everything: weather, budget, and egos.

Nicholas Meyer