Sturm und Drang

Sturm und drang, from the German (which also gives us such useful words as angst) literally translates as storm and urge, storm and longing, or storm and impulse. Sounds about right for this time of year, when everyone seems to be thinking that if this bloody winter doesn't end soon we're all going to tear our hair out. I mean, how depressing does the farm look without a single green thing anywhere to be seen?

Looking west.


Looking south. You can see that not all the snow has quite melted yet. In town there are still huge heaps of it, slowly rotting away in enormous piles on street corners and in parking lots. Yes, yes, I'm well aware that snow doesn't rot, but after several months of sitting around, it's filthy and spongy and certainly appears to be rotting rather than melting. At this rate, it'll still be there in July.


Henhouse, to the southeast. I know the sky looks vaguely blue, but it's not. Just gray, gray, and gray.

The worst part is the winter quiet. No bird sounds, no insects, no frogs or bugs or crickets or anything peeping or croaking or chirping. Just dead quiet. So not only does everything look gray and brown and dead, but there's not a sound in the winter air except for the sound of winter itself--which would be the wind blowing wickedly across the fields and around the dead trees and the corners of the house and barn and whatever else it can scrape its talons over. That, and the occasional passing car.

Which is the reason all anyone wants to do is hibernate.


You can wake us when it's over.