dispatches from fairy land
Mar. 6th, 2010 04:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
harborshoreThere is so much snow here. So much. Today we skied for two and a half hours, through a forest where the silence was only broken by us and the occasional bird chirping happily in the distance. It looked like--well, the Canadians among you probably know what it's like, cross-country skiing for hours through the woods covered in snow and quiet. I don't know how to describe it except to say it's like a fairytale, a strange land that bears no resemblance to the normal forest.
We came to a clearing where you could see the ocean (the cottage is on an island) and you can't see any water right now, it's just miles and miles of ice straight out into nowhere. So I stood there in the sun, thinking about everything and nothing at once, the future and my thesis and impending plane rides, two boys and a girl running away to find the underground rebellion but mostly finding another girl on the way, happy endings and open endings and holding on to what is right.
I thought about love, a little bit, trying to coax my muscles into working better. I thought about my brother and his pianist's hands that are finally getting back to where they were before he strained his right hand, and how much I hope Bob's wrists are still letting him play drums at a professional level. I thought about dreams, about how sometimes my dreams look like books on a shelf bearing my name, and sometimes I'm in a classroom and I get to talk about what I love as much as I want. Despite how wonderful those pictures are, the future scares me. All kinds of futures scare me. But it's easier to think about them when you're sliding through those sheets of white, endless miles of white, the kind that catches you when you fall. (And fall I did, because my new skis are faster than me, sometimes. My mother fell and that was much scarier, what with her hips and her knee being what they are, but she's fine.)
I'm learning to crochet. Pulling at yarn, my fingers take over from my head and it gets a little easier to see patterns, to hear rhythm. I forget to count sometimes and then I get lost, like a beginner in dance, losing her way among the steps. There's a metaphor in that, but I suspect it's a little obvious. It's about finding your own way, your own rhythm, the one you can't lose. So I'll tell my stories, and then the cards can fall as they may. Be still my beating heart, be calm my worrying mind, for I will make things alright.
We came to a clearing where you could see the ocean (the cottage is on an island) and you can't see any water right now, it's just miles and miles of ice straight out into nowhere. So I stood there in the sun, thinking about everything and nothing at once, the future and my thesis and impending plane rides, two boys and a girl running away to find the underground rebellion but mostly finding another girl on the way, happy endings and open endings and holding on to what is right.
I thought about love, a little bit, trying to coax my muscles into working better. I thought about my brother and his pianist's hands that are finally getting back to where they were before he strained his right hand, and how much I hope Bob's wrists are still letting him play drums at a professional level. I thought about dreams, about how sometimes my dreams look like books on a shelf bearing my name, and sometimes I'm in a classroom and I get to talk about what I love as much as I want. Despite how wonderful those pictures are, the future scares me. All kinds of futures scare me. But it's easier to think about them when you're sliding through those sheets of white, endless miles of white, the kind that catches you when you fall. (And fall I did, because my new skis are faster than me, sometimes. My mother fell and that was much scarier, what with her hips and her knee being what they are, but she's fine.)
I'm learning to crochet. Pulling at yarn, my fingers take over from my head and it gets a little easier to see patterns, to hear rhythm. I forget to count sometimes and then I get lost, like a beginner in dance, losing her way among the steps. There's a metaphor in that, but I suspect it's a little obvious. It's about finding your own way, your own rhythm, the one you can't lose. So I'll tell my stories, and then the cards can fall as they may. Be still my beating heart, be calm my worrying mind, for I will make things alright.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-06 03:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-06 05:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-06 03:49 pm (UTC)♥!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-06 05:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-06 05:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-07 01:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-06 05:08 pm (UTC)I don't have snow covered forests for skiing, but I have deep woods for horseback riding, and I love that sense of peaceful isolation even when you're five miles from a mall.
♥
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-07 01:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-06 10:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-07 01:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-07 12:32 am (UTC)Yesssss. I've seen it only once but oh, it's magical. That sounds, so, so beautiful. I hope the time and space is serving you well, bb.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-07 01:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-07 01:44 pm (UTC)Sometimes, I confess, I wonder how you're real, to be so wonderful.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-07 05:08 pm (UTC)♥
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-08 05:31 am (UTC)*chinhands*
(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-08 05:57 pm (UTC)