It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight.  The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward.  Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland.  It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, further westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves…It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns.  His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.~James Joyce, “The Dead”

Here, it’s falling fast, in morning, over the cars and grass, swirling in two directions.  The flakes dance their way down, spinning.  It’s a light snow, or was, for now it’s the next day, and it’s stopped at last.  It fell for two days.  The ground is sparkling now with snow and sun.  Why do these lines sound so cheesy?  Is it because they follow Joyce, who really wrote about snow?

wellfleet beach by shridar ganesan

A young man just walked by with a cellphone at his ear.  I will not discuss the attachment of cellphones to nearly every one’s ear in public.  I keep mine in my bag, and it rings at inappropriate times such as during class.  Then it rings to tell me I missed that call.  The after- ring.  Still, I will not talk about cellphones.

I’ve been thinking about Provincetown again.  Maybe because I associate with my work, and I’m working again, on a new novel.  Today’s weather reminds me in part of Provincetown, the grey with lighter grey in the sky, the hushed sound.  Can I imagine the roar of the see as I hear a car in the distance?  Above, Wellfleet.  Perhaps I’ll move back, or back to Sag Harbor.  In one year, I’ll be back on the job search, although how nice it is to think of just writing, with a little half-time position somewhere to give me structure.

Yesterday my cousin’s daughter got married, and I imagined the bright silk saris and some of the ceremony.  I even went on-line to see if I could find images of south Indian wedding ceremonies, to somehow vicariously take part.  In a month, I will receive pictures–more likely, downloads on the computer.

Hasn’t begun to rain.  Other people write about world events–I track the weather.