I have started a new writing project, since every time I start to write a blog entry, I bore myself! So I’m trying something different.
I take pleasure in writing about those moments in our lives that are small and subtle, yet hold some kind of magic, as if a window has opened inside us, and thus expanded our awareness of our world. Even so, these are just moments, so delicate and fleeting that they live on the periphery of our memory.
My goal is to write an ongoing series of these moments, micro-fiction of 500 or more words. I’ll put links here, and keep them posted at my web page.
Here’s the first two:
“February Woman”
There were Lego pieces everywhere. Tiny bits of plastic color spread across the carpet, on the bathroom counter, on the stairs. It had become such a habit for her to gather these pieces and toss them in the bucket that she was mindless in the task…
“View from the Window”
The girl’s bedroom was pink. She did not ask for it to be pink, nor did she like the color. It was her room, though….
Here is Renee painting the birdfeeder we made for our Native Birds Project. We’ve yet to have any birds come to the feeder–they must have all died from the cold. I wasn’t sure if we wanted to put a feeder up, because of our cats, but if they start prowling around hunting the birds, we can put some fencing around the feeder. Now it’s hanging in the window in the background. Waiting.
For our project we each picked a bird and wrote stories about it. We also drew our favorite birds, read about them, and discussed the different habitats and food.
On a morning like this–and there have been many this winter–I wonder exactly why I should get out of bed. I am fortunate that I can stay in bed! My appreciation goes out to all you folks that take care of things when the weather is obscene.
Despite all the snow and ice, this winter has not been particularly disturbing. This is because usually we have frequent, blisteringly fierce winds. Winds that run head-first into the north side of the house. I’ll be barely asleep and hear them coming like lions. When they hit the house shudders. On nights like that, I don’t sleep well. I worry about the winds ripping off the solar panels, or knocking down trees. I worry, and I worry well. So yes, the El Nino affect has been relentless, but the winds have not. I’ve slept, and I’ve slept well. Something for which to be thankful.
We heat with wood, and we ran out–it’s just been so cold. Even our old-time neighbor wise in the ways of mountain living has run out of wood. So for the past few days J has been taking down, sawing up, and sledding to the house a few standing dead trees from the forest. We also have been experimenting with lower house temperatures at night. J is not fond of this experiment, but I read an interesting blog article about the Japanese method of keeping warm (basically they don’t heat the whole house), and thought we could stretch ourselves a little bit more. Maybe this will help the wood last until May, which is usually when I light my last fire.
Spring seems forever away, though the transition began at Imbolc, which according to this archeoastronomy site was February 3rd this year. The other day I got eggs from the hens for the first time in months. It was so nice to have pink, turquoise, and brown eggs again. Simple pleasures are the best. If the snow and ice will hold off a bit, then in two weeks or so I bet I can find the first signs of Spring–maybe a little chickweed in the garden, or crocus blades cutting through the dark earth. I always feel like once I get past Imbolc I can shrug off most of winter’s despair and start seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Even if I’m still dependent on my down blanket.
