Even deer slip on the ice. Here is the evidence of one of them trying to cross the frozen-over creek. I wish I could have watched its unstable display of ballet.
A self-published book is now available at www.lulu.com, that contains the first two years (171 entries) of this blog. Volume two (the next 171 postings) is also now available.
The northern Shenandoah Valley is my long term—but not native—home. The Appalachian Mountains are my adopted surroundings. Having survived into my mid 70s, I continually muse upon the dichotomy of physically waning while still possessing what seems to be a youthful and dynamic outlook. At one time an engineer, I quit that life for one of simplicity, over three decades ago—exchanging an urban frenetic existence for the contemplative mode of a rural homesteader. The switch rewarded me with the opportunity to reorder my priorities and to pursue life’s more profound matters. I engage in my ongoing quest and challenges primarily as a hermit—having discovered that my journey currently seems to be mostly a solitary one. I find myself spending much of my time just trying to be attentive to the magical world around me—watching nature and my mind. The majority of my musings come to me during lengthy soaks in hot water in an outdoor tub, heated by an underwater woodstove, filled from an adjacent creek.
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