Yesterday in the blowing snow, out on the county road, I thought about the fact that I hadn’t posted something recently, not since the summer! There is something going on, a kind of “I dare you not to write something.” I have had ideas and some of those ideas have turned into larger pieces and been sent off into the world, the not-so-free world of writing, where I hope the merits of the writing will be rewarded by peer recognition, publication or perhaps a prize.
Living out here in the country, things seem to fit, and this dismays me. I know it would be hard to go back to the city and be part of a quickly changing world, or at least have those changes bombarding me every minute of every day. I am aware of that bigger world out there, but I feel a sense of control here, perhaps control over a decision to be here. Like I said it dismays me that I have taken to this environment with no question. I know little about it but right now, early this winter morning the stars are bright points of light just over my left shoulder, they are my reward for getting up so early. And last night when I took the dog out for a last pee before bed, our path, that we had so frequently trod and dug through the snow, had completely disappeared under huge drifts, along with any evidence that flower pots or plantings had been there. The snow was so smooth and pure and clean — the sky so black and clear.
There are millions of things to inspire me here to put these words down, sometimes I am afraid, I suppose, that I will run out, and that if I don’t write it all down I will have saved those very words, and perhaps prolonged my life, by not using them.
Andrew Binks 