On being outdone in story and storm

A new laundry meditation under dark skies and a warm wind, feeling my feet in their clogs, the lack of bite in the breeze on my neck, the sensation of each pin under my fingertips  as I nip it from the line before disassembling the umbrella for the season.  Came out from the news update on the uber-storm coming into the East to take in more Montana winterization.  It’s the odd disconnect between the images of tense preparation on the other coast and the brief warm spell we have been given between the first snows and the full Montana winter settling in.  There’s this pride in our Rocky Mountain winters, in the dry sub-zero cold, the north winds, the avalanches, the impacts on herds and calving, the toughness called forth, the pioneer self-sufficiency leaned into.  Our gardens are brought in, our woodpiles stacked high, our haystacks covered tight.  Yet in this week we are the lucky ones, the ones with it soft, easy.  We’ll have power, supplies in the stores, no floods, no mind-boggling images of devastation.  We’ve been temporarily stripped of our stories, outdone, unable to either complain or stubbornly endure.  So we bring awareness back into simply touching where we are, neither in story nor storm.  The leather of the last of the potatoes on fingertips as they come into the afternoon light.  The windscatter of green hay onto the black velvet of a shorn sheep’s back during winter feeding now the grasses are gone.   Children playing with the light skiff of ice on the watering buckets.  Lighting the oil lamps on the dining table in the early evening darkness and taking a glass of wine outside the house to see the lantern glow of the windows.  And wishing that lantern glow for those even now growing into their new stories, this new kind of storm.


About Lorca Smetana

White doves. Retreats. Insects. Languages. Making.
This entry was posted in Landsteading, Oooh, shiny...! and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to On being outdone in story and storm

  1. Glenda Lovejoy says:

    I love your writing! I can taste, see, smell, feel, and/or hear it all….beautifully done 🙂

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