The sound of a place, snowploughs, the beep beep of a bobcat backing up, to make another run down the sidewalk. Crows, tweety birds. Church bells from St. Dominic, the creak of the old wood floors mid-night,
The bigh yellow machines. The plough with the blower, the dump truck full of snow, then, in the morning, more light snow. Not a huge dump, but an accumulation, day by day, la neige tombe. February has been snowier than January. Now I wear earplugs to sleep when I know the snowploughs will be working
Valentine's day blizzard, snow drifted deep even on these usally cleared sidewalks. a lovely amount, high where drifted, otherwiwse knee high at most.
At Ashton, on Chemin St. Louis, two bobcats and threee big snowploughs parked. Two others drive in while I wait for the bus back to Cartier parce que l'école était fermé. Two even bigger ploughs roar along Chemin St. Louis, yellow lights blinking. Roar, scape, drop the plough.
Sleep my love and dream about me, all through the night.
Growling, scraping, snorting, blinking, they leave patterns on the snow, pressed nets, hives.
vendredi, le 18 février, il pleut!
The bigh yellow machines. The plough with the blower, the dump truck full of snow, then, in the morning, more light snow. Not a huge dump, but an accumulation, day by day, la neige tombe. February has been snowier than January. Now I wear earplugs to sleep when I know the snowploughs will be working
Valentine's day blizzard, snow drifted deep even on these usally cleared sidewalks. a lovely amount, high where drifted, otherwiwse knee high at most.
At Ashton, on Chemin St. Louis, two bobcats and threee big snowploughs parked. Two others drive in while I wait for the bus back to Cartier parce que l'école était fermé. Two even bigger ploughs roar along Chemin St. Louis, yellow lights blinking. Roar, scape, drop the plough.
Sleep my love and dream about me, all through the night.
Growling, scraping, snorting, blinking, they leave patterns on the snow, pressed nets, hives.
vendredi, le 18 février, il pleut!