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Death in the Family

18 August 2012 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

Wandering out of the cabin a couple weeks ago in the middle of the afternoon, with the generator running, music blaring, and having been working with my power tools for hours, I was more than surprised to stumble right into a bear.

Well, stumble into is a vague exaggeration, but 10' from the deck feels like a real hand shake given we could have been competing with the bridge crew for a noise pollution award.

...[Read More]

Shifting Seasons

18 August 2012 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

The seasons change here with incredible definition.

In high resolution, with no ambiguity, like the sheer cliffs of Scotland. There is no gentle topography, no graduating slopes to introduce you to the ocean, just sheer rock face.

There is land, and then there is sea.

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Tied up in Music

18 August 2012 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

I told someone not so long ago that music to me was my way of expressing myself. A solitary practice that I was unwilling, or unable to share with other people.

Sadly I learned the classical way, and as a consequence was tied to a methodology that did not reflect the full range of complexities of the human character to which you would hope to give voice.

Perhaps more succintly the irregularity of emotions do not fit necessarily into the staunched classical interpretation of musical training. The adherence to mathematical musical formula, phraseology and tone.

Interesting thought.

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Mountain Adventure

29 July 2012 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare
  Albert Camus once wrote 'and never have I felt so deeply at one and the same time so detached from myself and so present in the world'.   He was a morose and dark individual, if his writing can be indicative at all of his character.   But I stumbled across this, and it captured the sentiment I was afraid I would fail to articulate.   I walked into the mountains last week with Breagha. I had high hopes of us covering many miles, traversing many slopes, tackling many creeks, and crossing numerous mountain passes.   ...[Read More]

Green Timber

20 June 2012 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

Part of me dreams about the sharp clean cuts that you make in the winter time.

In sub-zero temperatures, dry chunks of wood split beautifully; each repetition of the axe yielding more fodder for the fire.

Your chopping stump long since lost in the snow, you place a piece of wood roughly where it used to be and hope for the best.

The snow compacts under the round, and creates the perfect platform, with an accommodating soft landing for the fresh cuts, wherever they may choose to fall. Rarely does a piece shoot off unexpectedly catching a finger, or a shin.

The process is rhythmic and repetitive. But not tedious, as you find stimulation in crafting the perfect piece.

...[Read More]