The winter winds blew this way last weekend, and what seemed like an endless summer ended abruptly. Winter is my most productive season when it comes to writing words, and I welcome it knowing I’ll enter a headspace I value very much. This will be my third winter since I committed to the life of a free writer, a decision I don’t regret in any way.
I write these words from my second office, the coffeeshop, though office is certainly the wrong word for a space to create art; rarely do I write much from the coffeeshop, usually I’m doing electronic chores for the day, sending emails and doing other interweb related things.
My town, Durango, is my kind of town, home, a place I don’t ever see moving away from, one that will fill many chapters in the book that is my life. I enjoy the chapters of winter because it is the only season I don’t feel much angst. I can accept the shorter days, set small goals to get done each day, type a few paragraphs for chapters, allow the novel that is life to build slowly. In spring, summer and fall I feel so much pressure to climb, run, party, love…winter is the season that balances it all out, to just take it slow.
And how slow can I take it? How much could I appreciate this sip of tea, this moment in my downtown, the trees that shed their remaining leaves, the mountaintops that finally look right because they are covered in snow.
What is this life as a writer? How does it influence my daily life? The trips I make, the risks I take? When the season of adventure is nearing a close and the season for reflection begins? For others it is the opposite, snow has a different meaning for everyone. For some their love for snow will claim their lives this winter. It always seems to. We’re all going there, one way or another.
They say you can never go back home, I guess you can never just go back in time. Yet with seasons are the constant reminders, and though the climate is changing many reminders are still there. I think we can still find home though, find home in a place we’ve never been, yet the community is waiting to accept us, welcome us.
On this third winter, on my verge of my thirty-fourth year of life I am at home, hoping for a few more days of Indian Summer to spend in the red rock desert, then welcoming winter in, to take it easy, take it easy baby.