Winter Moon of the Winter Solstice
Tomorrow the legislature goes into session and for the first time in three years I’m on the sideline. A bit wistful. A bit chagrined at getting out just when the getting might get good. Yes. Yes. Doubtful about the decision? No.
It’s midwinter, the time for pruning in the orchard. Fruit trees need space for air to circulate, fewer branches so they can focus their growth on less fruit with more vigor, and space, too, in which a harvester can reach. Plus, if possible they need to be kept shorter. Easier to harvest and less prone to damage during wind storms and heavy wet snow.
Just so my life of a year ago. I’d allowed branches to grow every which way. Too many branches. The fruit might be greater in quantity but not as good a quality. There was little space to reach inside the tree, watch an idea blossom, nurture it, then pluck it. My tree had become overgrown and needed pruning.
It wasn’t easy. The people at the Sierra Club are fellow travelers. Folks who see a world and want it better. Folks willing to do what it takes. I admire that stance and have made it my own for much of my life. I miss that sense of agency and I miss the camaraderie.
Yet. The hours of driving, of having attention pulled away time and time again. And the writing. Peaking now, for some reason. At this late stage of life. It was the tree I had not nourished. So I made the decision and pulled away.
I’ve pulled back from everything but Latin, art and writing now. The art temporarily, till July 1st, but all else, at least for now, permanently.
And so the gavel will go down, the great sausage grinder start up its rusty gears and I will sit at home and think of Odin.
