My Writing Cabin

I keep forgetting to upload the new snapshots, but the cabin is 99% finished, and I moved in yesterday. This morning I was like a little kid at Christmas, awake at 5:30 and eager to get the day rolling. It felt a little like waking at a campground -- a beautiful blue day already, my cup of coffee, birdsong. True, I get up every morning and write, but getting up this morning and writing? It felt ... as if I'd been blessed, which is exactly what I have been. I can't believe my good fortune. Twenty-seven years of marriage and my husband still has a few surprises up his sleeve.

As I've said here before, in my writing career I have often felt like the Lone Ranger, without Tonto and the cool horses. Teaching, mom-ing, trying to be a good daughter -- I get so overwhelmed and I feel that no one cares if I write my poems and books, or not. What's the point of writing one more poem? One more scene? Who is really waiting with bated breath to read any of it?

That is not, of course, true. (In my better moments, I've always known it isn't true.) The cabin is like a big old symbol sitting in my backyard: my writing is appreciated; it is supported. (Thank you, Bruce!)

"The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little stardust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched." -Henry David Thoreau