I promise I am also writing in between walks in the woods, but when the light is like this? It would be a moral failing not to go wandering.
These low stone walls criss-cross every hill, which is hilarious to me since I just reread the first few Earthsea books.
Following deer. Not finding any damn deer.
BLUE.
There is no describing the particular quiet of a pine forest.
Once again, BLUE.
Berries!
I mean, come on.
Come on.
Here at I-Park. My fellow residents are all fantastic—startlingly talented and genuine. Currently sitting in my studio listening to Sufjan, snow melt, and wind that occasionally kicks up into a whistle in the pines around me. Here are some pictures!
The pond:
A sound sculpture:
Tim Norris’ The Journey:
My studio sign:
Light in the dark!
Stove and books:
I’m not entirely sure I brought enough books?
My studio in the snow!
Snow on the skylight!
And inevitably, my desk:
Ganesha and coffee will remove all obstacles.
[Not pictured: imposter syndrome.]
[Pictured yet ineffable: Sufjan Stevens’ voice gently suggesting that perhaps I should be a better person.]