Might look like no more than a pile of logs to you. Looks like my new home to me. I see walls, window frames, floor boards, shelves, a kitchen table.
And on that hillside across river where these trees came from, all I see now are small green trees. No more big brown ones.
I know it won’t last. Those ones will go too. But in the meanwhile, it looks so… alive. I had forgotten what a living forest looks like.
Quick updates, and back to work. Got the weekend off from being Lady Logger. Instead, diving in, finding myself caught up in my words, at times struggling to stay afloat, as the next manuscript emerges like an all consuming wave. So much for moderation.
Stop. Breathe. Sit back in the sun and pop open a cold one. (Actually, I’m not much of a beer drinker, but it sure sounds good, sometimes. Especially since it’s our first batch of home brew.This coming week we’ll be bottling our next batch. I call this one Logger Lager.)
Last I heard from the publisher, the first book is off to the printer for proof copies! Yippee!!!!
And now, I leave you with this.
I finally found it. (Rather, Bob found it first.)
Beauty in the beetle kill.
A natural work of art hiding on the inside of every log. Just peel the bark and there it is, waiting to be revealed…