Winter slows things up. I sat at the keys yesterday after a doozie of an 'Ole Cycle (it is not all cruise and chill-out, as I flippantly wrote in my last post) with an idea for a two-part article. Pete was tucked back into the vardo and JOTS tended to herself with no particular interest in blogging. Getting back into the practice of writing on the keyboard takes a bit of retraining. My solitary life sometimes freezes me up with over analysis, and no writing and that can simply defeat the purpose of being alive. I feel the pressure of my the belt move against my belly. Okay, there is life.I spent a chunk of time researching the topic for the article and began the 1st draft.
Some writing, most writing is done over time. Good writing grows with practice, and the technology of blogging and social mobility of the internet would have me(us) believing writing just happens. Well, yes and no. Sitting here this morning, I write to get my fingers moving and my practice in place. Winter does slow things down, and often the illusion that our tiny world lives from the vardo as 'less than____________" can dampen the soul.
The late November ice-skid of an accident with our faithful 'Scout' the Subaru had the old gal in the auto body shop. Pete worked with the repair man to be as careful about the methods of repair: cautioning him to use no chemicals to clean, and to do as much of the body work outside the shop. But after all of his best efforts, the hood and left-front of the car were painted and the VOCs from the job make it a no-go for me. It's been almost three weeks since the car is back to us, and ten days for the work. So the freedom of movement via a car has been slowed down.
I notice the empty limbs of the apple trees and the cherry look bleak in the orchard beyond the wire fence. Their old leaves rot into ground-cover turned over by the kick'n chickens and rooting ducks. The trees don't seem to mind slowing down.