Writing Days

Somedays I just want to curl away on the side of my couch, wrapped into a wool blanket, and simply write to my heart's content. I'll grab any peice of open unwritten paper in my notebook and scribble words- any words that come to my head- for hours upon hours. I write poems, stories, non-fiction tidbits, and narrative essays. I write of dreams, of thoughts, of imaginary places I someday hope to visit. And to many such a day would seem wasted, but to me such days are among some of the most well spent.

A Dusting Of Snow

Today I awoke to the most magnificant feeling in the world. Snow, I could sense it- just beyond my windowpane. I jumped from my brown plaid covers and ran over to pull away my tan curtains. There, about 7 or 8 feet below me, lay the most amazing color- white, everywhere. It was flawless. I ran out to my even larger kitchen window and pulled back my lace curtains to take in the scenery even further. And then, out of pure and utter excitement- I grabbed my coat, my slippers, and my happy soul and I ran outside to make the first tracks of the season on the ground before my cabin.

Awaiting Permanent Snow

The weather is sunny but oh so cold. Frost remains in the shaded parts until late afternoon. Small puddles are becoming permanently frozen. The birds have hushed and settled in for the snow to come. Chipper- and her daughter Sassy (who decided to stay around instead of roam into the wild) are stocking up on seeds for the winter. The pups all have new dry hay put into their dog houses- and my seal skin mukluks are calling my name. A first permanent snowfall is on the horizon and I'm beginning to feel the excitement for its appearance.

Fleeting Daylight

Autumn has officially come and gone. My favorite season of the year disappears so quickly into winter. The first snowfall fell. It didn't stick but the white dots made a scene on the horizon. I love winter, I really do. It could perhaps also be my favorite season. But I'm so sad to see the yellow leaves already fallen onto the riverbanks. The frogs hiding away for hibernation. The waterfowl have all traveled south- leaving only the northern dwellers to pass by. The berries are gone, the tundra has turned from green to a vibrant red, and the northern Siberian winds have begun twisting the empty alder branches. It's now passed the season of sweaters and the weather for fur is growing on me. I have much sewing to do, hay to gather, and firewood to cut. Winter is coming faster than I can imagine, and my procrastinating habits are growing more evident with the fleeting daylight hours.

My Little Rotten Love

The pup has so quickly become a part of Coho and I's family. She's such a mother, it's beautiful. When she venture's off this small little white ball of anger follows her. He adores her and never leaves her side. And she never walks too fast for his little paw's pace. She lets him pull her tail with his sharp little teeth and she snuggles him in for an afternoon nap. She has taken him as her son and he has most certainly considered her a mother. He's getting used to me. Coho adores me, and so he naturally get's overwhelmingly excited when I come in his presence as well. I see pitbull in him. He's too young to tell if he's full bred or not, but he has the heart of a fighter. That terrifies me, but Coho keeps him in line quite well. She keeps Rascal in line and he's twice her size, so I feel comfortable with the fact she is the chosen one to raise this little ball of terror. He's playful, adorable, and although he's as rotten as they come- I have already made a spot in my dog-loving heart for him.

Coho's First Child

As I made my way outside to bless Rascal and Coho with moose scraps, I had no intentions of adding yet another love to my home. Rascal has been kind lately- howling. The inner wolf in him has come out. His owners, my neighbors, chained him next to Coho so I can conveniently feed him and play with him often. He's precious, a big puppy, and in every sense of the word my baby boy. Coho has become something different though. She's merely a year old and yet a woman in every way possible. She proved that to me today when I came outside to find her snuggled into the hay in her home with a small, white, so very thin puppy curled into her. She hopped out happily to greet me, and her adopted child followed. After feeding Rascal I brought Coho in for cuddles and her child, naturally followed. She was so patient with him, so loving of his ways. He's terribly agressive and skinny. But I've fed him and my heart is patient with his hate of humans. He's merely two or three months of age and ferocious as hell. But Coho is in love with him, so alas, I suppose my heart fell into his cute little eyes as well...

The Aches Of Strength

Ugh, the work of dismembering an animal as large as a bull moose was something I never expected. It's so large, so heavy, so hard to maneauver. And yet, as always, my challenge to hold up to a men's standards have left my woman's body sore and exhausted. The young bull fell on the side of a hill. The rainy season has taken it's toll on the landscape and as I lifted and leaved legs, ribs, a butt bone and a neck down the trail my body often ended on the ground. My arms ached. My neck ached. My back broke and my soul was determined to prove to the men that I was not in pain. I was strong, well-able, and determined. But I was not all at the same time. And after a night in a tent and a day collecting my winter's meat all I can think is how nice a woodstove and wool blanket feels.

Immature Uneven Antlers

I never thought I would be a girl who would enjoy hunting. And yet, when that young bull walked galantly out from the shadows and I hid behind the willow bushes as my darling aimed his gun- something happened. It was such a beautiful, big animal. Graceful and confident. I didn't watch as it fell- I never do. One thing I cannot bare to see is the life of something leaving it's body. But it fell not ten seconds later, and I didn't feel the ache I do when a swan lands in front of me or a fish is pulled from the net. We hiked up the bank to view our winter's sustinance. I knelt down and felt the back of its head. I do with every animal. To feel its third eye, its soul, and to tell it that I'm thankful for the food it is giving me. Its ears were so soft... so warm... and I got lost in the traces of the fur. Some time later I turned to look at the eyes. It was so odd, something I have not seen in geese or fish. This young bull looked at peace with death. It's eye was open, not mad or sad, but rather hopeful. Staring directly into the blue sky as if it was ready to go and content with the fact it had been respectfully and honourably taken. And it whispered to me that it was okay- that it was happy to be taken in this way and that his life would live on through the memory I behold of him and his small uneven antlers.

Finding Love Again

We were laying in a tent. His 5 o'clock shadow was unshaven and rugid. My hair was uncombed and a tangled blond mess. The wind was picking up, the clouds were settling in, and our pile of blankets was growing cold. And yet I looked at him and was completely in love. Something I have missed for so long. He was beside me, but within me all at once. His soul just reached out and pulled me in and I couldn't help but to climb on top of him, wrap my body into his, and never want to let go. He wrapped his arms around me, grasped my tangled hair but didn't bother to attempt to run his fingers through it. Rather he just tangled it more and I had no problem with that. I fell in love with him all over again. The butterflies overwhelmed by soul like a long lost friend and I realized at that moment- as the clearwater stream outside trickled it's sounds through the tent- that I was still in love with him... and I didn't want that to ever change again.