North words

Another year is in its nascence. Is the world my oyster? I feel more like a ping-pong ball, bouncing around the country. I woke up to a dark Prescott morning and will fall asleep in a dark Gustavus night. As I write, the dark earth passes quickly beneath the airplane carrying me north to Seattle, Juneau, and home. There are delicate ridges below topped with a hint of snow, a thin line of white curving gently, drawing both sides of the mountains together.

From the desert to the sea. To the wonderful company of Gustavus folk and my fluffy Fingolfin. To a cozy cabin, a crackling fire in my wood stove, slippers on my feet, siskin and chickadee by the window.

I spent much of the past year struggling against the many tentacles holding me close. It wasn’t easy. Much of the time I was treading water, barely holding my head above the surface. Each time I finally removed one grasping arm, I felt another clamp down tightly.

Perhaps, while the year is young, I should make an effort to appreciate the simple things before wrapping myself in the complications. They will wrap themselves around me soon enough.

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