It started with Lynn, who works here and keeps an eye on us, saying: two inches of snow today, 8 inches tomorrow, as I made my morning tea. I could tell because the heat in my room was finally coming through the vent at around 7 AM. I opened the outside door and it was COLD. As I write this I see a blur of white out the window, and my comfy stove-fireplace has been showing those make-believe logs burning, heating the room all afternoon. Snowstorm.
Yesterday morning I walked across a brown landscape and recorded a meadowlark and later, an oriole singing with loud rich volume. In the distance
another bird answered. Frogs, where there were none. And a daffodil about to open, a yellow bud, all part of the now white world outside my log cabin writing studio.
Kim has a fire going in the main house living room. A real one with logs and kindling.
I have been here so many days I can’t remember. There are 4 days left. The writing has filled a small booklet, and I’ve organized it pretty well. I am pleased and amazed at myself.
A couple of days ago, Melissa strung her handmade net across the creek and I took pictures of it. Yesterday morning, where I sat for morning meditation, I could see sparkles as the sun touched it and the wind slightly moved it behind a wall of branches. It had a magical spider-web-with-dew feeling, a between-worlds shimmer, as good art installations can. Tonight I’ll be having what leftovers I can find in my section of the fridge. We got farm-fresh eggs today so maybe an omelet. The weather is supposed to clear by the end of the week so the prop plane can fly to Denver. If not, Melissa, Kim, and I will spend the night in a hotel in Sheridan. A new group of artists and writers will be here soon.
I cannot imagine a better place to spend 30 days writing away from home. Thanks, Jentel, for all you have given me. A beautiful gift.