snapshot, I

The coming year is sparking. Potential. Idea rubbing on idea.  Soon: a flame. The number thirteen stands falsely accused.

Has the winter tricked us?  It spent months playing at fall, and now, at the end of January, it is showing itself for the first time.  The ground is frozen hard (and yet the moles still throw up mounds of dirt, the ground we walk on must be riddled with tunnels), and snow has tucked it in for a sleep that might last until April.  We are going to have to order more firewood.

Two construction sites (Wägen in the making) stand, shivering naked skeletons, on the lawn.  People stay inside, and you can go for days without running into a neighbor, though there are foot prints in the snow and the children leave their sleds at the bottom of the hill.  Somewhere, a trampoline is creaking.

The shrunken world of winter—a single red Wagen, one 2m by 7m length of space—feels tight, cozy, chaotic.  The potential for claustrophobia is enormous.  But it doesn’t come, and there is nowhere else I want to be.

In the middle of the night, the wood stove that has smoldered for hours bursts into sudden flame and dances light across the walls.  The baby has woken me up, pawing for food, and we fall asleep stomach to stomach to the sound of fire devouring air.

Photo by the lovely JP.

0 Comments on “snapshot, I

  1. Lyrical and evocative. From one (soon-to-retire) wordsmith to another, thank you. The images you spun gave me pleasure on a gray New England day.

  2. Happy winter! It sounds very cozy.

    If you’re looking for new things to read in your Wagen, check out Zarf’s book reviews–mostly SF and fantasy. He’s an old friend of mine, but since he moved away several years ago I haven’t been in his home; I’m trying to imagine what it must be like by now because his old place was almost all bookcase maze with the occasional bed….

  3. Sorry for the late comment – just catching up on old posts, and this one’s a doozy! Thanks for the insight into your distant, alien world. It’s really blown my city-dwelling mind. The sound of loutish drunkards on the way to the strippers next door and douche-bags cruising around with massively over-compensating amplified sub-woofers doesn’t make for an atmosphere that is quite as romantic and warm as your little sailing ship, ‘Wagenplatz’.

  4. ‘Becca: Will do. I love people who have houses that seem to have walls made out of books.

    Ryan: Thanks!!

    Jayrod: No problem. Look at how late my response is! Badabing. Oh the romance of city life. Yet I find all the things you describe can have a certain gritty romance if you look at them in a certain light.

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