(all of these photos are views from my yard this winter.)
My front porch in the summer. Can't wait. :)
Soon, I will post my January and February pile of unfinished tears. Some I will likely finish, some I will not and they go into the "burn pile". For now, I am still toiling away, trying to find a solution for some, or giving some the final nod of goodbye. Despite the harshness of this winter, I have found that it is a sanctuary of sorts for me. I have had no choice but to hole up in my studio and bundle up in multiple layers much like I did in my youth when I lived in Vermont and New Hampshire. I remember so many early mornings of getting dressed under the covers because our heat was a wood burning stove that we didn't waste time or resources starting in the morning before school. I remember riding the sled down the mountain, standing it upright in the snow pile to pick up on the way home for the next mornings ride. I remember the long trudge up the hill on days like this, knowing that the fire would have to be started, and the house would be cold until it was "stoked". I remember the bus rides, and the smell of sap in March when the sugaring started. I long for the days that were so simple. The power was out for a few hours today. Not because of the weather, but because of a young careless driver who hit the pole in front of our house on a snowy day. The quiet in the house was deafening, but I felt at peace. It made me realize why I get agitated when there is so much noise and activity. Often I thought it was me and over sensitivity. Perhaps it's not just me.
The snow piles that are piled over 10 feet high covering my studio window give me comfort in a strange way. Perhaps this is part of why I am in a good place right now, in the midst of all this snow and disengagement. It's as if I've come home.