Yesterday the branches and twigs were covered with light snow and with an icy coating glistening in the noon sun.My grandchildren come to have lunch with me on Wednesday.  As we were walking back to school after the lunch break, I drew their attention to the sun shining on the bushes bearing their bright decorations. They were fascinated and wanted to touch, to have a short-lived souvenir in their hands of that fleeting moment. And then they were off, kicking a stone along the alleyway that leads to the the school, stamping on a fragile ice puddle.

One thing was a little different though.  My oldest grandchild, a boy in grade five, continue used to walk beside me, talking about the poem he would recite that afternoon in class.  Victor Hugo, no less!  As his brother and sister ran on ahead, climbed up onto a low wall, raced their classmates to the door of the yard, he was interested in something else.  He is drawing away from the sensory world and into the world of ideas. I gently noted that the close observation of nature, of one’s surroundings, is at the heart of good writing.  It a seemed me to me that Hugo’s poem was rather heavy on the” noble ideal” side.

And then then school bell sounded…..and he ran off.

Heavy snow and freezing rain forecast for today.

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