I have not had words to write of late. My thoughts have been in Illinois. My thoughts have been of uncompleted things. My thoughts have been a-jumble, off-kilter, scrambling for turf, scrambling for traction, scrambling for a level place to gain perspective, to catch my breath. My mother is dying. My mother. And my heart […]Read more "A Mother’s Love"
Plant quiet like a seed within your heart And let it grow and split that organ through. Let the fierce root rive all such walls apart, Let the dark flourish, let your words be few. Out of the earth and dreaming in the sun Though the years burgeon, it is well […]Read more "Eiseley: Plant Quiet Like a Seed…."
The world is cloudy this morning — gray with late-winter light — but yesterday! Yesterday was really something! Something to get out into; something beautiful and bright! Blue skies stretched from east to west. The March sun held warmth — real warmth — and I celebrated with hands bared as I snowshoed across the compacting drifts, […]Read more "Slowly We Return to Earth, or a Walk in the March Sun"
My mother had a good deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it. Mark Twain My mother had great designs for me. I was to be an artist — a dancer on the musical theater stage. She financed endless dance lessons toward this end. For years she arranged car rides to-and-from lessons; […]Read more "A Mother’s Designs"
To adventure. When I was young, guided by my imagination and the books I read, I adventured. My siblings and I laid planks between tree limbs and called them forts. We pinned blankets over the dome jungle gym and called it a tent. We dropped charcoal briquettes into freshly dug holes to bake potatoes and […]Read more "Some Other Dimension"
The thermometer sat at -13 degrees at 9:45 this morning. We’ve made some improvement in the last hour; the thermometer now rests at -11, but the windchill remains -33. I am so heartened by this rise in temperature, though, I have decided to put on my snowshoes and venture outdoors. I will stay in the vicinity […]Read more "News from the Frozen North"
“At night make me one with the darkness,” the poet Wendell Berry wrote. “In the morning make me one with the light.” I snowshoed west across the open field this morning. The sky was overcast. Snow fell from above or was blown from the northwest; I couldn’t tell which as I traveled slowly, my head down […]Read more "Without Constraint"