Wood ages in circles around my eyes. How does it die, I wonder. Good wood for chopping up and using for a fire. The flames licking the air, while smoke trails upward, swirling.
Wood cabins smelling of pine, so rich, you just breathe it in, let it fill your senses, and then admire the rich amber tones of the wood, gleaming on the wall. This is how it was in the cabins at Rip Van Winkle's motorlodge, in the Catskill mountains. How many night before bed did I look at the wood and feel a certain wonder.
I hve a big chunk of cedar on my key chain--it was carved just a little to bring out it's best. I love the way it feels curving upon my fingerstips.
Being around a sacred fire, where each piece of wood was placed with intention in all the directions, to the East and West, North and South, to Father Sky and Mother Earth.
*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long.
Visit Evie, whom I freewrite with, at the space between colors.