Posts Tagged ‘writing’

Nowhere To Be Found

July 24, 2013

A sleepy afternoon in the north woods. If my muse came along, she is nowhere to be found. But I shall make the best of it and settle down with Team of Rivals.


An eclectic and delightful bunch

August 27, 2012

Recovering from a month away – away from the internet, neighbors, traffic, distracting conveniences. Of course I turn off notifications from the blogs I follow, and I’ll probably never catch up. But that isn’t the point is it?

I enjoy each post as it is, when it is. And from such an eclectic and delightful bunch putting forth great passion and feeling.

So, I return with another birthday under my belt, and a renewed awareness of all that surrounds me.

Sabbatical – Unplugged

May 16, 2012

I’m heading off on a bit of a sabbatical – an “unplugged” sabbatical. The little one-room cabin has no phone, no internet, no cable, no Direct TV. If the antenna can’t pick it up, we don’t watch. Satellite radio keeps us informed.

A Caribou Coffee ┬áin town has Wi-Fi. A 28 mile round trip doesn’t sound like much, but it’s enough to limit checking email to once or twice per week. Even when I’m going into town for something else, I forget to grab my laptop. That is becoming unplugged, on sabbatical.

The little place by the lake has lots of physical labor involved to rouse it from its long winter’s nap. The dock is on the front lawn, the boat is in town, the screen house is in a pile in the bunk house. Leaves from last October are everywhere.

After a few days, things look like this:




But I do try to wrap up “work” around 1:00 each day, and the rest of the day is for reading, writing, fishing, sitting on the dock with a glass of wine or Scotch while watching loons and eagles in the late afternoon.

My library is being packed: In Cold Blood by Truman Capote, T.S. Eliot’s Collected Poems, Anne Porter’s Living Things, Jhumpa Lahiri’s Unaccustomed Earth, Franz Pfeiffer’s Works of Meister Eckhart. And, of course, writing materials including the slowly growing manuscript of my book.

As I rake, fish, read, or just relax, I carry with me the hundreds of men I have spoken with at the prisons, and who remain behind locked steel doors and would, to the man, so love to be doing what I’m doing. But I return to them refreshed for which we both benefit.

1500 mile round trip always asks for safe travel.


A small fire down by the lake

September 19, 2011

Packing up a composition book for some writing, I found this from June of last year:

I set a fire this morning

A small fire down by the lake

Such stillness

Slight swells from an unseen boat

Grays and silvers too numerous to count

The fire spits sending sparks to ride the column of smoke

Straight up

No breeze