Last night the trees were covered in such white snow, that it felt like I chanced upon a fantasy, a world like Narnia, say.

 It is Neptune’s blizzard now, shaking yesterday’s snow off the limbs, scattering the snow sideways.

My neighbor’s shingled wall looks like it’s dusted with powdered sugar.  The power comes and goes, like the women

and Michelangelo, and the wind howls and howls.  Blizzards in the daytime are of course easier to take than at night,

when the snow offers serenity in moments of quiet.  The cats are curled up, asleep, in separate corners; they have

been antsy with

each other, picking fights, and I blame the lack of fresh air ( drafts don’t count.)

But of course, drafts do count, and my novel is a mess, as I rethink so much of the dialogue ( needed?) and action

( necessary?).  Piles of essays and stories and other work wait for my attention.  I am dreaming of winter vacation

( December? January?) but Bird by Bird, these too will get done.

Another blizzard, 2015

The pots outside are capped like muffin-tops with snow. The walks are smooth.  It really is beautiful.

Snow fell and vanished.  Wind came and blew.  In the midst of it all, my Aunt Janaki passed away at 83 years of age.  I have known her all my life, in all of the important stages.  She was a great believer in civil and individual rights. She worked tirelessly with an orphanage in Pondicherry, wrote plays performed on the radio, and played Carnatic violin.  She carried her violin to the States and to Europe where she traveled by herself, and with a friend.  She was the middle sister, and now only my mother and her brother, my beloved uncle remain.  I loved my Aunt very much, and relied on her presence.  She once told me I needed to be more generous to others, and she is right.  Her generosity overflowed, which doesn’t mean she didn’t get annoyed or hurt or bothered.  My mother’s family as my father’s family experienced loss too early and too unnecessarily.  One thing that resulted on both sides was a sense of equanimity about the world, a sense of flexibility.  I am still learning to be more generous, to others and to myself.  I think it is an ongoing process.  My Aunt gives me courage in this.She died peacefully, unexpectedly after getting over a recent illness.   My beloved Elder-Uncle Subbaiah was napping with her after they had finished dinner, and my beloved Aunt died in her sleep, holding onto his hand.