Winter turns down my energy level -- else I wouldn't survive. Long evenings confined by snow and distance, I'd burn up with unused energy. I'm fine with being at home, would like a woodfire, but... not complaining. The kerosene heater is keeping the place toasty -- this is a well built little house. And I have plenty to keep me busy.
I have to make myself go outside these days. Once I'm out there, though, I have to make myself come back in again. I love/hate winter. The long evenings leave me time for things. I can spin. I can knit. I can write here on Woodsmoke. I don't do storyfinding late in the evening -- my energy is coasting by this time. Moving into someone's story is hard work.
Moving into my own story drags me down. The past is past. When I try to write about it, the colors are all grey. And that's not how they were.
I think I'll start a journal and write the old stories -- not necessarily in chronological order -- just a bit from time to time -- about whatever comes. I'm not sure why -- except that this is, basically, what I ask other people to do with storyfinding. I've kept journals for years. But this is not the same thing. Storyfinding is going back with a road map and camera.
So, while winter tucks in the edges of a not-so-cozy white blanket, I'll spin an old story. I'll begin where the story begins, with Aries -- with I Am...
1 comment:
Winter is a great time to come indoors and contemplate. When you farm or garden as I do there is far too much doing the rest of the year.
I am being pushed to try to write the three phases of homesteading stories. Dunno how I will find time. It will have to be after Yule and the hex signs are shipped.
Post a Comment