Monday, December 1


I have always loved the first day of a new month. There is a razor edge of possibility cutting the air. A beginning again. A clean dive into new stories, whispered to skies full of winter stars and midnight. What can I tell you of my Alaska winter on this first day of December?

There is a rawness to living in elements such as this, a harvesting of spirit. There is a rhythm to dry cabin living - the pulse of inside outside - wood for the stove, path to the outhouse, dumping of water, re-filling of water, hauling of trash, plowing of snow, warming of engines. The day will advance in a dreamy light, like oil riding water - memories from my youth of growing up in a cement city, discovering pothole pools of swirling iridescent color. Night returns quickly - cold snaps around in dark - I light candles and rest with warm wooden walls around me. There is something genuine and persistant about winter. The way she comes on un-apologetically and teaches me slowly how to love her. She shows me her lines and her attention to detail as she drifts snowflakes across my hands. She promises a passage of season, to unfold in a sure circle of graced time. First though, I must sail out, rippling blue moonlight into her long night and drift on dreams of returning light on new leaves...


  1. I always feel there's something good about the first day of December too. This year I'm happy that we're just 20 days away from getting our daylight back.

  2. I forgot to say the photo is beautiful!

  3. Yes, this photo is spectacular. The start of a new month is a bit like the start of a new week, or new day--always suggesting new hope, yes?

    I've added your blog to my blog list and am hoping that more artists find your blog. I know that they'll be as inspired as I am.

    I can feel that the intensity of your climate, like the intensity of my own, strips away all pretense if we allow it. This can bring out the best in us, or, at least our most authentic selves.