Icy

My minivan looks like an ice sculpture. I used a couple gallons of warm water to melt the ice on the windshield and was happy that I could get the doors open to let the van run for a while to melt the rest of the window ice. What's next? Hurricane? Tsunami? Or just your garden-variety blizzard? I need Don to tell me again why we aren't going away to Bonaire for a month.

January 3--13th Century Mosaic, The Tower of Babel. Pat lay on her back in the warm spring sunshine. She was by no means the only student taking advantage of the irresistible weather by sitting in the quad. The men who designed and built the red brick buildings around the generous grassy space used their heads and sited them so that one of them usually blocked the wind. Pat had found herself a prime spot in the sun and out of the still-cool breeze. She sat down intending to work on her homework for Ancient History but for some reason the excitement of learning about the Byzantine art influence in Venice escaped her, especially the overly ornate and busy mosaics slapped up all over every damned church, basilica, and palazzo that stood still for it. Pat had grown up in a firmly blue-collar family and had the devil of a time getting worked up over the doings of 13th century rich people. A stray breeze turned the pages of her textbook, stopping on a page showing a detail of a mosaic in the Basilica di San Marco that showed two men in togas on scaffolding building the Tower of Babel. She laughed out loud and said to no one in particular, "They look like Dad and Uncle Ralphie." Suddenly the 13th century wasn't so different after all.

Jennifer, I like your timid little kindergartner trying so hard to be brave. And I found an art page-a-day calendar to use for prompts. I'll bring it to show on Thursday. Yay, writer's starts again this week.
--Barbara