Winter weather is not my soul, but the biding of Spring.

Reading: Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, by Annie Dillard
Listening: Palimpsest, by Smog

Good, grey morning. Heavy rain, steaming mug of tea.



I’ve just come inside from my garden–I planted a little rose bush, with the softest white petals, and am feeling ready to sit for a while with Annie Dillard.

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek was a challenge for me at first. iI realized that it can be a bit terrifying to open a book, without any idea of where the story will take you, especially when that book has no apparent plot. It’s like following a path you can’t see. I am practicing trust and patience.

This is definitely not a book to push or rush through. These are pages on which to take your time. For Annie, this is an experiment in exploration, and she is cultivating contentment with the present. As I said, there’s no definable plot. She isn’t creating a story to propel the reader forward or behind, but is simply showing what is already around, existing.

What a precious, lesson.

“These are our few live seasons. Let us live them as purely as we can, in the present” (p.83).


Image found here.
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