Winter Digest

A fire must be tended

I am learning to heat the house by burning wood in the cast iron stove. Each stove, I expect, has a unique profile dependent on: the design, the particular manufacturing conditions, the length and path of the chimney, the installation, the location. You do not turn on a stove like a switch on a lamp, or a thermostat. You do not light a fire in a stove and walk away. There is a process to building a fire, slowly, iteratively. Of choosing the kindling, of feeding the right sized logs, of gauging the amount of oxygen needed, of preparing the bed of coals. Of knowing the variability of the flames, and responding in kind with micro-adjustments of position, airflow, fuel. It takes time and attention. Practice, in fact. A fire must be tended. (01.06.25)

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The mystery of extraterrestrial pain

On January 2, 2025 I am waking with a sense of determination to smooth out the jagged edges of the transition to a new year. I am holding gratitude – and possibility. I am holding patience and perspective. I am understanding what I can and cannot control. I am sitting in my body enjoying the morning and the cup of coffee. I am waking to a snow white world of gusting powder and blue dawn and dusk. I am feeling the potency changeability, if only I can choose to do so. (01.02.25)

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Bench

Up the road behind the house to the stump dump to find the bench and the trash receptacle and the giant pile of dirt and the trail into the woods. Straight ahead, turn left, look up, kneel down, breathe back. Wait, the bench. (12.30.24)

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I statements

I live in a series of heartwarming tales
I grew up in a union of time and resources
I arrived still, displaying every possible sign of life
I was so engrossed in modern philosophy
I was feeling something
I was interested to learn motion and matter: invisible vortices
I knew the answer
I was startled by the sound of this mirroring of life and art
I saw a face
I tried to scrub it away
I don’t believe I remember how I have never once been
I wish for an “I” unknown

(12.28.24)

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Solstice

On the winter solstice
the day’s light shone
blue gold and cold
cracked open the dawn.

I prepared. I planned.

Turning the anticipation
of this pivot time over in my body.
The wonder and renewal held tight
to my chest…

(12.21.24)

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Winter

I understand this moment, now fixed here in code. Winter sun, stalks, shadow, snow and tracks. Also, me, I, the subject, the protagonist, the invisible. You, there, looking, reading, perhaps waiting. (12.24.24)

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These fragments were originally posted at http://jbeau.info.