January 30, 2013
A fog-laden wind sifts through tree boughs to the northwest. Into my left ear the presto drip of snowmelt on metal roof is punctuated by a random slide, thunk of heavier stuff pulled to ground. On my lap, the steady, thundering purr of kitten.
The dark outside is thick with visible air, like stirred winter stew. It feels almost balmy after these minus 29 degree days so I’m tempted to stay out… but no. To inside, under thick blankets. To listen, not look.
And here, like a gift, like a soul’s massage, is the heavy rain.
It’s been travel travel for me these past weeks, through the bustling silence of January 2013. Not what I had expected. The first month of the year in this place has always had the sensibility of a well-caught breath. For me it’s always held the promise of a month of stacked, not linear time – so that ‘was’, ‘is’ and ‘will be’ are all in the same moment. This makes it oh so much easier to find and feel the “Ah. Yes” – the insight that will become the engine for the following months and years.
Oddly enough – even amid the schedule and the travel and the deadlines, the all-nighters, the practise and the rehearsals, the cover letters and the interviews, the Wagner, the B&B and the Beethoven, this has still happened. There is clarity even in this fog of winter stew, and I feel quite deeply certain about a few key things.
KG, I need an axe song – can we talk? L, I need a couple of songs from you too. Owen Sound – we need to make good music education available to every kid in this place – and soon. I’m not kidding about this – in another well-identified post I will gather links and information to illustrate beyond any doubt what is possible here. To the women of #IdleNoMore – I get it. Thank you for opening a place where we can all talk and heal together. G, I get where we’re going, and it’s good. T, thanks & good luck with the simplification project. F, L – courage. Darlin D – well done.
Oh I feel blessed.