Imbolc New (Bloodroot) Moon
Immersed again in the history of ancient Rome, that interesting period when the Republic gives way to the reign of emperors, night has fallen, a clear night. I’ve wanted a clear night because I want to see the stars here on the prairie, away from city lights. That’s next.
Brother Dusty (James) Johnson has lived out here under the big sky of South Dakota for several years now and fell in love with it. I can see why. There’s an expansiveness that opens the heart, yet somehow too points back to the very spot where you stand, a sort of universal and a particular in one moment.
In Andover due to tree cover our focus is resolute and local. We see our yard, our neighbors, our woods, our gardens, our bees. Out here you can see your neighbor’s pasture, your neighbor’s cattle and their neighbors. The weather doesn’t sneak up on you here, as it can in Andover, coming up over the woods to our west, it announces itself far in advance, scudding clouds, lightning, wind. All out there. There’s a frankness and an honesty in that.
I only have two more writing days left, Sunday and Monday, but I’m very pleased with the amount of work I’ve gotten done. In fact, as I hoped, this intense focus on Missing has let me see what I’ve been missing, this anchor to my day, the writing anchor. I’ve let the ship slip its moorings and float away on the winds of Latin, art, politics, bees and gardening. I need to bring this ship of daily writing back into harbor, keep it where its protected.
It means, I know, a change in my schedule, an earlier rising and an earlier bedtime, but to be honest with who I am, I need to make the change.
This has to be done while not losing the gains I’ve made in those other areas, that will be the trick.