That’s where the words have gone. Some special “extended state of torpor.” Some deep drop in the metabolism of language and memory. Shocked into an energy-saving indolence. A lethargy designed to evade these dark days. To save up strength and stamina for a season that is not so spirit-robbing.
That’s where my words have gone. Right along with organized ideas. Right along with an animating ardor for beliefs that I want to share with the world. At the moment, these icy winds have stilled my mind, my reasoning, stolen the air out of my enthusiasms and blown them all to the badlands of the Missouri. Or maybe on to North Dakota oilfields. Some bleak landscape where—for now—they’re hung up on a leafless cottonwood or an abandoned derrick.
So, tonight, the boys and I will tuck up in our cozy home. Tiger Tiger will find me wrapped in the silk of a woolly blanket and take up his favorite nuzzling spot on my chest. Favor me with Eskimo kitty kisses–serious nose rubbing. And love-scratched hickeys. While Tuxedo will meow for a spot of cuddling—throw himself down on the bed, stretch out on his back, invite sensuous tummy rubs. Or bring me the rattiest cloth mouse he can find for a game of fetch. Seriously. I am so lucky.
The words and memories, I suspect, will return—will wake–when I least expect them to. Maybe when I’ve finished sorting files or coming to grips with my closet. Winnowing through all those herbal remedies whose efficacies I’ve long since forgotten. Acknowledging the books I won’t read again. Maybe then, winter’s desolation will ease. Maybe the words in my brain will perk up and shake off the doldrums of this darkness.
And maybe a chinook blowing down off the Front will find all those lost ideas, the errant memories and send them back on a semi heading west. On a huge load of baled hay coming this way. And they’ll return to Helena, to Alpine Drive. ©
