The immaculate fall of the splitting maul. The ineffable release. The way the kindling flies apart, one half landing in the mud, the other off in drifted snow…
My wood guy just ran out of wood. They all do, it’s endemic. Now I’ll have to call up half a dozen strangers in hopes of keeping warm. This happens every winter in this place we haven’t left yet since I don’t know where to go or how to get there. Tonight my wife asked, “Where do we want to be?” and then apologized for making trouble. “No, no,” I told her, “perfectly valid question!” But let us be light-hearted. I just renewed the passports, after all. Self-driving man, I tell you. Sometimes I just sit there, staring at the scratches on the windshield. What I think we’d really like is to go home.
John Hamilton Farr lives in Taos, New Mexico, U.S.A. As New York Times best-selling author James C. Moore tells it, John is “a man attuned to the world who sees it differently than you and I and writes about it with a language and a vision of life that is impossible to ignore.” See .png)
I hope you find a place here. Pretty sure the mountain likes you.
Thanks! All it takes is one.
so where will “home” be? You know the old “you can’t go home again”…which becomes even more true with age….parents gone, siblings gone, friends gone, home sold, etc., etc., etc.
In the meantime, carry home in your heart. May she rest there as long as need be.
Great comments from you both!