A New Time

It has been sometime since I felt I had anything to say. But, Little Bird came by and reminded me that’s okay. That writing is a lifelong pursuit and that if her and I miss a few months of letters, it means nothing, because writing exists out of time. We exist in the un-time.

She comes to visit me in almost every house I have ever lived in. She comes to the new house in the woods and I know she, above everyone else, will appreciate the unmade nature of it right now, and be able to see what we are trying to build.

We go for a walk tonight and my fingers are so cold I can barely write. It has been some time since I have lived anywhere cold, save for those foggy beach mornings in your car. Here there is less blue but more of everything else. There are greens and yellows in such a vast amount I do not have words for them. There are flickering birch leaves in the afternoon sun when I walk the dog down the dirt road, and shades of evergreens that cut three horizons, and a larch now and then the color of a honeysuckle. And for brief and fleeting seconds I even think about Montana.

Down in the valley in front of the house, but before the lake, are five horses and they have been there all day. Over a bottle of wine you tell me it is privilege to write, to spend my mind and my time like this. I try hard to remember this truth when the work feels hard or the words taste stale.

I have been teaching again lately. I try to find creative ways to tell them how to write, but the truth is, there is more magic in it than I am willing to admit. I know this because I can feel the magic come and go like a song stuck in my head on the walk home. Only when I hear it do I realize it’s been gone for sometime.

Someday we are going to remember when this house torn apart and we slept on a mattress on the floor and the dog woke us up at sunrise and it was just the three of us. And we will laugh about how it all came together and who we were, and look at photographs and say how young we were. And maybe I will remember tonight and the white horses in the valley, and the yellow birch trees, and the evergreens, and that yes the lake was blue.

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