Writing is a solitary pursuit--the imagination guiding the hand moving the pen. I'm pretty old-school, valuing the work of good editors and the revisions process before letting my words go public. But life is short, right? And sometimes, just sometimes, we need to spout off.

About me...

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A writer, mother, teacher, friend, I love books, blizzards and beaches, music from Hildegard von Bingen to the Beatles to Bonnie Raitt to The Brood; I love medieval churches, red wine, creme caramel, and roasted beets, and walking the woods and coastlines of home. 

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Over Easy Earl

A few tree branches down, a ton of leaves--maples the most susceptible, unused to a tropical pounding? The power was out for most of the day but came back on at dusk. A good day for reading, never mind the swirling churning wind & rain. A spider riding out the whole thing in a web by the front window, proof that spider silk is stronger, much stronger, than things like power lines.
Still, a piece of cake, this storm, relatively. The biggest hardship no internet. But once again, the ultra cabin fever of being locked inside your house inside your little neighbourhood with no access to, no clue at all about the fate of neighbourhoods mere blocks or a few kilometers away. The world reduced to a tiny, silent sphere. Never mind the food thawing in the freezer, the veggies going limp in the fridge. The thing that made me most ansty (next to the thrashing power line entangled in a tree) the feeling of being cut adrift, however real or artificial or delusional, deprived of connectivity.

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