A plow hurtles past heading north, toward the gas station. A half dozen snowmobiles buzz the other direction, their headlights bobbing. I scuff along the high bank with my sled, heading for where the steps lead down to the bay. There’s a cold wind, a haze over the sliver of moon. The rigging on the flag bangs, as usual. And then I fly down.
Archive for February 2013
I couldn’t get a good picture of this bright thumbnail of moon a few weeks ago, but it’s something I don’t want to forget. It struck me as being so beautiful–like I was living inside a piece of magic. The night was still, clear, cold–the kind of night you listen for a coyote’s howl, and the listening alone is thrilling, even if you don’t hear one.
There are so many things I don’t want to forget. I think that’s one of the main reasons I write. And also why I become so frustrated with writing. Like–frogs croaking on a July night, another beautiful-moon night. The frogs left me feeling peaceful and lucky when I’d been feeling tired and discouraged. But what am I ever going to do with that? And why do I feel like I have to ‘do’ anything with it at all? Why can’t I just live it and enjoy it and let it go? Because I’m a writer, I suppose.
This afternoon, I’m too tired to have any drive or discontent left. I’ll be happy to get on the snowmobile and ride home. It seems good to want something simple and attainable. I probably should try it more often.