Last night I had a snake dream—unfortunately, I have recurring snake dreams. It was summer, and I was somewhere high, overlooking a field. Along came the snake, very long and whipping so fast, so fast through the grass. I have no idea what kind of snake it was, but with its brown coloring and huge size, it was probably what we Mainers call a milk adder. Then in my dream, the snake disappeared into the edge of the forest, and, lucky for me, that was that.
Funny to have such a dream because it is January in Maine, and all the snakes, great and small, are sound asleep beneath the snow. We have had a week of wintry mix, where at times the sleet has tapped, tapped, tapped against the house and windows. Fortunately, the sleet did not leave much of a coating on the trees, and no branches fell to make us lose our power.
Yesterday afternoon I went to the public beach in town, to take some pictures, and I learned that there was no lifeguard on duty.
The ducks didn’t seem to mind.
I admired the bare branches of a tree against the sky,
the weather vane on top of the gazebo,
and the ice-fishing shacks on Maranacook Lake.
Soon January will slide into February. One more month of deep winter, even in this time of climate change.