This weekend I played Rock Band with some friends. Or is it called Guitar Hero? Any way it was fun. Some of us were a bit shy, though I seemed to gravitate easily to the rock musician persona. I sang a Blondie song and pictured myself on stage in tight spandex day glo green leggings and pouffy bonde hair. Then I played bass guitar on a Rush song, while Greg did the awesome vocals. D. had practiced a lot we could tell, because his guitar work was virtuoso.
The next day I went out with Greg and two other friends snowshoeing at a quiet edge of Gatineau park for a spell. It was peacefully snowing as we went through the bushes, while blobs of snow from branches around us fell on our shoulders, and for the unlucky, down our necks. We saw squirrel tracks that disappeared at the spot where a birds wings had made a mark in the snow. We saw an entry way to a small animal's den, maybe a fox or raccoon. We saw open water at a stream, flowing below openings in deep layers of snow.
Then we played Wii golf and Wii bowling.
The next day I went out with Greg and two other friends snowshoeing at a quiet edge of Gatineau park for a spell. It was peacefully snowing as we went through the bushes, while blobs of snow from branches around us fell on our shoulders, and for the unlucky, down our necks. We saw squirrel tracks that disappeared at the spot where a birds wings had made a mark in the snow. We saw an entry way to a small animal's den, maybe a fox or raccoon. We saw open water at a stream, flowing below openings in deep layers of snow.
Then we played Wii golf and Wii bowling.
2 comments:
Snow Queen by Helen Dunmore
Long long I have looked for you,
snowshoeing across the world
across the wild white world
with my heart in my pocket
and my black greased boots
to keep the cold out,
past cathedrals and pike marshes
I've tracked you,
so long have I looked for you.
In your star-blue palace
I wandered and could not find you
in your winter garden
I picked icicles,
my fingers burned on your gate
of freezing iron
I have the pain
of it yet on my palm.
through clanging branches
and black frost-fall
I dared not call
so I slide above worlds of ice
where the fishes kiss
and the drowned farmer
whips on his cart
through bubbles of glass
and his dogs prance
at the tail-end, frozen
with one leg cocked
and yellow urine
twined in thickets of ice.
I stamp my boot
and the ice booms.
I have looked so long
I am wild and white
as your creatures, I might
be one of your own.
April 22, 2009 already!
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