The log lady died, did you hear? the woman of twinpeaks fame? Can you believe, of all the news in the world, that THAT made it through my firewalls? sheesh. I know, its (the show. the woman) probably not personally relevant to anything, but death, for all its necessity? still a loss, a sadness of inevitability, a change resisted... relevant, always.
|These were a log that arrived at the house. Milled right in front of my eyes. I thought these things only happened to the Waltons.|
|This is the tree where they began.|
|This is the friend and the husband at work, on the logs and the trees.|
This is what I was doing while the beauty and stark betrayal and transformation of the tree from hearted warrior tree to hearted childhaven tree. Its branches shorn, it was re-shaped into what will be. And while menfolk wielded chainsaws, I was stacking, stacking, stacking... winter will not catch me unawares, at least not entirely. Would I really freeze to death rather than cutting into nature? what is my nature, afterall, but a constant reshaping of spirit? - another repurpose? or a joining of purpose and existence? a death so that life may be continued?
there is that.