Snowed in on The Road2Elsewhere

Merry Christmas to all (who celebrate it), and to all a good trudge through the snow (if any).

This is my fourth Christmas on the Road 2 Elsewhere, which is plenty of time to develop a tradition, right? I did these sketches—first posted here in 2021—based on a favorite stretch on the road up Mount Blue Sky, which until recently, was named after a slaughterer of innocents, from a dark moment in Colorado history. But they wiped the guy’s name off the peak, which just shows you: Progress is possible. It’s happening every day, in fact. Here’s hoping for more of that for you, for me, and for the Rocky Mountains, in the year ahead.

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And to all a good night!

“A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.”
― James Joyce, The Dead (A Novella)

And, as a special Christmas gift, here’s the complete text of The Dead, James Joyce’s sweet evocation of a sad, dark season filled with light and joy. Spend a couple of hours, with hot Irish whiskey in hand, to tap into the deeper meaning of the season, and the relationships it batters, and strengthens.

Thanks for that, James.

You too, Literature Network, for posting it all.