{my topography}

So I finished, and I’m happy with the manuscript I put together. I wrote well, I think. My body aches from poor posture, and hour after hour in front of the computer.

Getting these applications finished is a milestone for me. I’m standing at the doorway to something I’ve wanted for such a long time, and finally I’ve given myself the all-out green light to go ahead and be a writer.

It still sounds a little scary to say that, to admit that’s what I’m doing by sending this fat envelope off. Like releasing a flock carrier pigeons, hope takes flight on a hundred wings tonight.

Snowmelt dripping

Tattered clouds

Setting Sun

Snow angel

Evening light

Walking home

The morning sun is gorgeous and golden through my window, another day with possible moments of sun makes my heart sing.

I’ve been wanting to write about all the good things in my this past week, but my mind’s been in a vice grip, focusing on these pieces, focusing on the work that I must do.

Today, when I stumbled out of bed, dizzy from the dry heat of our room, and aching from the awkward pillow angles and small kicks to the rib that comes with sharing a bed with Bean, and when I sat down at the computer all I wanted to do was exalt the sun. I’m ready for spring, and though I learned last year that spring here comes in April, not March, longer days are coming now.

Fog fills the valley below the house, and the light is bright and golden.

Yesterday I strapped on a pair of snowshoes, and with Bean on my shoulders, we climbed through drifts to the top of our wooded hill, where the fort we’d made together in summer, had become shelter for small animals, with many sets of tracks converging there. Bean looked at a larger set of tracks and said, “Bunny tracks!”

“Are you sure,” I said laughing at his sweet certainty. “They could be squirrel tracks.”

“No, der bunny tracks. Dat squirrel tracks,” he said pointing earnestly to a smaller set of tracks leading right to the base of a tree.

Where did he possibly learn to make a conjecture like that? He’s grown an entire inch this month. Really. And he’s becoming such a wonder of a little kid. So full of ideas, and so affectionate. Now anything he likes, he showers with kisses: the penguin picture in the magazine? “Hug!” he says, then reaches out to wrap it in his arms, kissing the picture softly.

It’s been a week of happiness, which almost surprised me. February has sucked so much out of us, winter has, responsibility has, stress has, that it felt almost accidental to be in the place we worked so hard to be in. One of real pleasure. Making love in the afternoon and then watching the snow fall outside. Going on a date: fish & chips, a walk in the cold to a coffee shop under the stars, and then cuddled in the movie theater to watch Music & Lyrics (such a feel-good movie!) Hanging out with our kid, clearing paths around the house with the snow blower through three feet of snow.

But mostly, what’s marked the difference this week is we’ve given each other a little wider berth, more space to say things and not be immediately misinterpreted. More time to notice all the sweetness that still gets packed in: making pancakes, racing cars across the wide expanse of floor, DH’s new guitar which makes him grin every single time its mentioned, or sledding down the driveway. Little moments that I almost stopped noticing until there was time to breathe, to be more present and less hurt. Life is good.

This is what my desk looks like right now.

I’m submitting a series of three essays. One is finished, and damn good, I think. Two to go, with a bunch of raw material to work from. Harder topics though.

I’ve been sitting nearly all day, playing chicken with words. When I couldn’t stand any more hunching at the computer with the cat on my shoulders (that’s where he’s taken to lounging. I’ll get a pic one of these days) I put on a jacket and went out into the freezing cold. The wind chill was brutal, but the sky was blue and it felt good to be out with my camera, feeling my lungs work and my boots crunch over frozen snow.

Now back to the second essay with some dark orange infused chocolate and perhaps some chai.

Monday:
I’m stumbling to break into a new routine of writing in the morning before my thoughts are shattered with day. Now I wake up with dreams still trailing through my mind like the tails of wild horses, and there is nothing I can hold onto for sure. But it is a quieter time, now, with the restless cat circling my knees, as the before-dawn light spreads out above the blue of land and fog like a pale smudge of jam. I’m ready to at least sit and follow the words across the page.

*

Tuesday:
It’s early and I’ve wrapped my wet hair in a fleece blanket to stay warm. The house creaks as the heat comes on. Outside the mercury hovers near zero. Already daylight is smudging the clouds with pale gray and rose. I do not want to be awake today, tiredness clings to me, making my vision blurry.

*

Wednesday:
This morning the white-bread toast is gummy and the tea too sweat. I brought a handful of pecan halves upstairs, but I’m not interested now, in the dark before dawn when the temperature dips and the house is still.

*
Thursday:
The morning is frail and dark. My body aches from a lack of sleep, and my dreams tumbled around my mind like rocks in the dryer. Now day, and I’m anxious. No clean laundry, not enough time to accomplish the things I need to get done.
*

Friday:
Morning, just six hours after crawling under the heap of down comforters and closing heavy lids. Morning and the sky is so beautiful, I wish I could capture it just once the way it really appears, for those fleeting moments of dawn before day. Moments when everything still rests, and branches are quiet angled lines against the delicate expanse of sky.

This morning toast with raspberry jam, and hardly anything to write or say, except to keep the momentum of early morning waking. So I sip coffee from a tall mug and hear my baby’s voice rise up, waking his daddy, and greeting day, and though I’m tired, I’m grateful.