On Sodom Pond

Postcards from rural Vermont


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In a cottage made of wood and glass

IMG_20140128_123902_365The sun came in and grabbed me by the throat. It sent snow crashing from the roof, scattered turkeys under the feeder. It blinded my screens. Accosted my eyes. Made my fire disappear and icicles drool. It said to the wind, I don’t give a damn! Who are you? I’m coming through.

So am I. Little by little. I get up from the corduroy sofa where I’ve curled into myself all winter. Where I’ve laid plans, and set snares for spring. The sofa of my dreaming. I sleep on it all night, rising in the dark to feed the fire.

The sun reached a hand into my chest today and squeezed and it hurt. There was nowhere to go, nothing to be done. January thaw. Keep your head down. Keep working.


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IMG_20140121_171414_070They may have overshot inches.

IMG_20140121_171339_885But not the magic.

IMG_20140121_171457_406Cambridge: The city I love for its books and sidewalks, writers and Greek food, hot chocolate and swing dances, trains and the guys who sell Spare Change who call me good lookin’.


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I met an angel on the path…

IMG_20140119_162833_888…and the angel said to me:

Lie here a while and listen and I did.

Trees were cracking in the cold and the

wind was purring in the tall pines.

An owl lifted its heavy body from a branch

and flew to another field.

This path was mine.

My dusk. My eyes. My cold. My heart

beating under my coat. Waiting for the

coyotes to come, the ones

who mate for life, who

wait for each other every year.

I’m not ready for the darkness

to pass. My winter.

My edge.  My  dark dreaming.

 


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Where?

Here? IMG_20140101_083346_155

There? IMG_20140101_083418_116

At 8:15AM, it’s 10 degrees. The bird feeder has frozen again. There’s been a soft fluffy cover of snow but I can hear the vicious crunch of ice under my boot.

What about here? IMG_20140101_083538_815

I squint up at tall pines and spruces.

Or maybe over there? IMG_20140101_083552_729

I will watch for the angle of the sun. I will walk the dips and ledges. I will stare out the window as the mercury ticks lower and a fire crackles at my back and think.

I will garden again. I don’t know how but I will.

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My new year’s mantra is my latest lesson on the wood stove from Eric, woodsman extraordinaire:

Use less kindling. You’ve got way more than enough.  Trust that the fire will start.

*

In 2014, here’s to lots of no bread, poetry, radical ‘zines, tea parties, mandalas, wood fires, new friends, long walks, visiting, volunteering….and did I say dancing?