soften your focus, widen your eyes & gaze into the heart of wonder.

may it bring you peace.

people!

the arctic is melting! the arctic is melting! the arctic is melting!

i celebrated with a very long walk and a drink from every mud puddle. also, i peed on everything. (i had to reclaim my town-territory. the local dogs had probably forgotten all about me.)

wow, am i happy. and tired. it takes a while to stretch out my winter legs.

your friend, atlas

p.s. guess how i celebrated my walk? with a nap, of course!

“Everyone who terrifies you is 65% water.
And everyone you love is made of stardust,
and I know
sometimes
you cannot breathe deeply, and
the night sky is no home, and
that you are down to your last two percent,
but
nothing is infinite,
not even loss.
You are made of the sea and the stars, and
one day,
you are going to find yourself again.”

~ Finn Butler

In his book, We Are Still Married, Garrison Keillor included a piece titled How to Write a Letter. As you know, I am a huge fan of real mail, including (especially) letters. His piece made letter-writing seem so friendly + accessible, and was so full of tips + truth, that I would love for everyone to read it.

To entice you – into reading his piece, into writing letters – here is some of his wisdom.

1. Don’t feel guilty about not writing. Letters are a gift. You don’t owe anyone a letter.
2. The only letters that are obligatory are thank you notes, condolence notes, and responses to requests for a visit. Write those promptly. Don’t worry about the others.
3. Some of the best letters are written in a fit of inspiration.
4. Your words don’t need to be immortal, just sincere.
5. Think about your friend. When they become real to you, start to write.
6. Tell your friend what you’re doing, just as if you were talking to them.
7. If you don’t know where to begin, start with the present moment.
8. You are writing to someone who already likes you. Take it easy.
9. Don’t worry about form. It’s not a term paper.
10. Don’t start over every time you make a mistake. Write your way out of it.
11. Writing is a means of discovery. When you come to the end, you’ll know something you didn’t know when you began.
12. Your letter will be an object of art. Your simple lines will show future generations the humanity of our times.

For more letter-writing goodness, read the entire piece in We Are Still Married. Available at fine booksellers and libraries everywhere.

Thanks, Mr. Keillor, for your wisdom! You inspired me to write three letters today and I agree with all of this.

Here’s to a world full of handwritten letters!

“Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.”

~ Victor Hugo

i think of this line – from the song let go, by frou frou – whenever the petals on a flower begin to fade & fall.

there is beauty in the breakdown indeed.

always.

a tiny nephew & small niece were here for two weeks, and a tiny niece & small nephew joined them for part of it. needless to say, my time has been occupied. they are all gone now, but they left me with memories and a rather awful cold-flu-what-have-you bug.

if you’re wondering what i’m like when i’m under the weather, here is a story for you.

when i was ill last winter, my mother told me that when someone else is sick, she feels sympathy pains. i asked her if she wanted me to tell her how i felt, so she would know if she was feeling sympathy pains for me. “oh no,” she said. “you have been very explicit. i know exactly how you feel.”

i suppose it’s a good thing for everyone that i am generally well.

still, all is well. we are in the midst of a frigid spell, so it’s a good day to stay indoors. i have hot water with lemon & honey, two unread library books, a sweet pup, and there is a sunny spot in the living room that is calling my name.

i leave you with a wish for sunshine + love + warmth.

may you be well.

this oak tree is in a neighbor’s front yard. i was walking down the road one day in autumn and the leaves caught my eye. in the afternoon light, they resembled spring blossoms. it looked like the tree had skipped right over winter and landed in spring.

(i so admire the hardiness of oak trees. they manage to keep many of their leaves through the icy gusts of winter and the brown leaves lend a tiny spot of color to the winter landscape.)

remember the snowshoe trail i discovered last winter?

the one that was just down the road?

it’s back again this winter and it is just as enchanting.

i have decided to call it narnia.

that’s right! it’s time for another round of postcards!

i’m calling this one project happiness. it’s my cure for the winter doldrums.

all the details are here.

if you want in, i’d love to have you.

either way, i am wishing you sunshine + smiles + happiness.

your friend, atlas