7:30 a.m. on the Johnny Gunter porch. Robins churr and chatter above the orchard. Flicker shouts rhythmically from the Douglas-firs above the meadow. Somewhere up the canyon, Raven growls her approval of the approaching equinox. Sometime in the night, an infinite star-cast relinquished to morning fog that holds my world soft and close, impinging on all but the nearest Douglas-firs. Not a hint of wind or sniff of rain. Frost still pockets the meadow. I’m wearing the blue down parka I bought half a century ago, and Dad’s black canvas jacket drapes my lap in warm memory. Tomorrow would be his 94th birthday. I slide one hand and then the other beneath the jacket, trying to keep my fingers warm enough to hold journal pages open and write.
The animation of the house manifests itself in this writing-- the shifts of energy that are ancestral gifts realized through attentiveness such as yours. Thank you!
You're getting a lot of yeses from the creatures that know that place and the wood, whether it was long ago a tree they nested in or a tree they sucked bugs from. They all impart everything an impractical romantic needs, confirming both the quantum and the neuroscience nature of living.
Wonderful Tom! Your story reminds me of the cottage on a lake my father built - still in the family - always something to fix - but it carries the memory of him. It brought me there with all my memories. I haven’t been there in 7 years - too long. Shirley
The Remembering House
The animation of the house manifests itself in this writing-- the shifts of energy that are ancestral gifts realized through attentiveness such as yours. Thank you!
"...a belief that wood will go on living, that it will form and be formed."
Thank you, Tom. Catching up on my reading. This is a lovely meditation.
You're getting a lot of yeses from the creatures that know that place and the wood, whether it was long ago a tree they nested in or a tree they sucked bugs from. They all impart everything an impractical romantic needs, confirming both the quantum and the neuroscience nature of living.
Wonderful Tom! Your story reminds me of the cottage on a lake my father built - still in the family - always something to fix - but it carries the memory of him. It brought me there with all my memories. I haven’t been there in 7 years - too long. Shirley