Long time no write

Writers will grok this. After Emily died, I didn't want to dip into the well and see what lay in the depths. Then Portia died and it became even harder to put pen to paper.

So I'm switching to pencils. My friend Catherine, who is a prolific writer, writes in pencil. I like the idea of the bits of graphite flaking off and adhering to the page, or being able to view the progress of your work (or at least your diligent attempts) by the shortening of the implement.

A while back, I bought up a bunch of pencils, just because I liked them. I hadn't thought much about using them, but now they beckon to me. They are Blackfeet Indian pencils, old enough that the erasers are punk. Some people who have then won't write with them, because they haven't been produced for a while and have high monetary value. I don't think hoarding my pencils is going to make me rich, or net me enough to waste the labor and resources that went into making these beautiful writing instruments.

So here is a start, and here I go. Out to fill the bird feeder for the chickadees, red-breasted nuthatches, over-wintering goldfinches, and the rest.