Explorations in Storytelling


Stories mostly

The Day -- Wind

Here's what the day looked like.


This was what the day sounded like:

It was a gray wind. The bell you hear has a story. My Aunt Ruth, who died in 2006 at the age of 95, was a force. She knew what she wanted. Every day. And she did it. One day she was shopping in Portland, Me., and she went by this wind chime store and heard a chime that sounded like a bell buoy. She loved it. She walked right in and bought it and had it shipped to me with a note that said: "Geoffrey, I bought this for you because I knew you missed the sea."

This is what we did, I swear to god:

Put new weather stripping on each of the windows.

Washed the windows.

Made a gallon of applesauce.

Cut, chopped and stacked a half a cord of wood from the drug-from-the-woods pile of limbs and downed trees. Wood for the sugar house come March.

At sunset, watched the colors go from gray to gold to orange to red and listened to the birds.

At dark, which came too early, heard a small group of deer walk by me in the woods in back.