Why it is, I’m not sure, but it’s always been the sky for me. My favorite, I think, is to be six or younger with my face tilted back while snowflakes flutter down to land on my eyelids. I can go there,truly, with some effort and at a cost. Perhaps it’s my favorite because I was raised in the Deep South, and snow and ice were fleeting and rare. But there are other skies--a whole mosaic of colors and temperatures and water falling in one form or another, or not at all. Out here in the desert it’s the wind, especially on nights like this when the air is cold and clean as the edge of a fine knife. It howls tonight. It screamed all day, giving such performances that we haven’t done much more than lie around together, playing or reading quietly, all in our own spaces, with our own thoughts, strung together by the constant roar.
We’re a little fuzzy on cold meds. I’ve gone outside several times to watch the palm trees whipping around overhead, thinking the life in the winds would somehow transfer their energies to me, opening a larger view and giving focus.
It refreshes each time, but the exhilaration ends when I come back inside. It’s too cozy in here for work, especially with Orion and Gurtie curled up napping on the floor.
But, work I must. There is much to sculpt and paint and think, to package and file and write. I’ll be back to it tomorrow morning for sure, with a vengeance, and glad for resting today.
Rebecca sent this one:
Lamb of God
Crus de Agnus Dei con quilon menthae,
Leg of Lamb of God with mint jelly
I've just finished Gene Wolfe's "On Blue's Waters." If you're wondering, see the photo I posted as I finished "Exodus." I am reacting in somewhat the same fashion, but I know more than I did. I've concluded that Pete is right, it is imperative to read the Long Sun books before reading the Short Sun books. Elsewise, stroke is a risk. I'll not go to any of the message boards or sites. Not because I'm not geeky enough to, but because I just don't have the time.
I need cold air. I need intense studio hours. I need to rant on about things I tend to rant on about. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
The blog is officially one year old tonight. That feels a little strange. It's fitting, really, that I post no bells and whistles, that I write about the wind. I'd thought, weeks ago, that I should write something profound tonight. Something stirring and inspiring. But that's not how this works, is it? It's the every day, as it happens. Some of you came in from the beginning, then more trickled in, then more and now we are legion, meeting here on this page every day.
I told Ravyn I'd give it a year, and I have. I'd kind of like to see where we go. This promises to be an interesting year. I'll be very happy, and very, very grateful, as always, to have you with me. So, let's try it for another?