Looking up through the skylight at the stormy weather.
I imagine one of the particular joys of a mid-winter residency here is how cozy the cabin seems when the wind is roaring through the trees, and the rain is pounding down, and the river is rushing past, high and fast and brown and wild.
Raindrops on the window, trees and river behind --
an accidentally artful shot.
I heard something this morning, before I was up out of bed, that sounded like a tree falling, and I think it might have been. I watched a tree go down the river this afternoon.
Wild weather! Reminds me of Madeleine L'Engle's "A Wrinkle in Time," which starts on such a night...
Working up in the Cube on my play.
Nothing so exciting happened here today, except (hopefully!) in the pages I was working on. I wrote through the day, polishing off my pot of coffee one cup at a time in front of the fire as I scribbled. I'm beginning to have a much fuller sense of this Antarctica play -- who the characters are, what they love, what they're obsessed with, what music they listen to, what they want from this journey they're on. The early stages of writing a new play, when you're fully engaged, are so exciting! It's the Age of Discovery in miniature, everything unmapped, everything possible, all adventure and derring do!
Leaves and rain on the patio.
I may be influenced in this post by the new book I've just begun, "The Surgeon's Mate," by Patrick O'Brian. I've also started a book called "Life on the Ice," by Roff Smith -- a journalist from New Hampshire who relocates to Australia, then decides he MUST go to Antarctica. The first chapter is a delightful setting of the stage. (I think of so many things in play terms now...)
Soapstone Creek -- fast and high today, in the stormy weather.
River, running fast.
Luckily, the rain paused, briefly, at four o'clock. It must have known I needed to get some wood in, which I did. Then I walked through the woods. Water dripped from ferns and tree limbs. I looked for my little deer, but didn't see her. I stood by the river and watched it roar. There's a place where a little island splits the creek in two, where you can watch the water cut apart, and then converge; tonight, there is no island, but just water rushing, rushing, rushing right over the top, and a few logs and limbs that have gotten themselves stuck in the shallows. Everything smells moist and green out there, mossy and muddy. My boots squish in the mud as I walk. I'm awfully glad I brought boots, so I could tromp around in the woods.
Looking up at the rain as it falls through the trees.
Boots! Standing on a mossy, leaf-covered stump near the river.
Darkness falling over the woods...
I came back in when twilight had settled into proper darkness. I could see A's light on, over in the Water Studio -- a warm glow -- and smoke coming out her chimney. I fed my fire and made a cup of tea, then returned to the cube to work some more.
It's raining again. Maybe it's time to go downstairs and make some supper. Work by the fire a while.
Cozy and safe and warm.
Cozy little fire in the stove.