12-13
In the middle of winter my world became very small didn’t seem to go much beyond the farm buildings doors everything in tones of brown-white, dark green no scent in the air but woodsmoke. Somehow the days passed, I wrote things down or I cooked food In the beginning I had fewer thoughts, but knew later they went deeper, moved along without producing words. ~~ Down on the best grey stone beach, we lolled in cold gravel as the wind turned waves came in. Looking and feeling how smooth everything was, and only from water flowing up against the land. A loon laughed at us for being so lazy while she dove deep to catch fish. I sang a tiny song to myself, the sound of my own breath below the waves or wind my right hand digging into the smooth gravel until it was wet.
And there was as always is my breathing to listen deeply to. And there was as always is a rainbow halo around the sun.
