I am here, I am in this forest,
where luminance lingers long nearby,
I fall asleep under the cedar tree
Lengthy languorous slumber
The tree branches
caught cracking cuts
into my peace like slices,
into my mind like vices:
Waiting, waiting for the sun
to reach me.
This is the time of year I love most (even if my allergies disagree).
A bald eagle in a tree near the North Valley Overlook on Turtleback Mountain
The birdsong and frog song, the succession of blooming plants, the longer days, and the shifts between sunshine and rain.
I’m finishing up a project that I’ll be sad to leave. I love the characters, the setting, the story. I’m sure I’ll be doing future revisions and edits, shifting and changing, but for now, I’m going to move onto the next big thing.
These moments of shifting can feel good. “Hey, I finished a book!”
Yet, I can also feel unsure.
The possibility awaits: wonderful and scary; exciting and daunting; a dash forward and a long pause. All those contrasts hit me, freeze me.
I’m back to the act of creating again. The pen to the notebook–
I’m not a big fan of winter. It isn’t a season where a lot of transition happens. Everything sleeps, and I am drowsy, despondent, stagnant.
This winter started out mellow. It wasn’t too cold, so I did my best to find beautiful things, especially as the year turned with a promise of early spring on the horizon.
January
Unfortunately, my nemesis–the winds from the Fraser Valley in Canada– hit the island in February. This cold system collided with storms. The mellow winter turned . . .
February
On Tuesday this week, I trudged outside. No one was out driving, so the normal quiet was even more silent.
Found the wonder of winter. The hush of snow. The transformed landscape . . .
Racoon (?) Prints on a Log
Outside, the slow thaw drips and slushes. The forecast doesn’t exactly call for spring again, but there are signs.
I’ve been doing some hiking lately. This is something I like to do this time of year, especially when I find the lesser known trails at odd times of the day.
From the top of Mount Constitution between two storm systems.
A field of ferns.
Looking down at Crow Valley from Turtleback Mountain.