 What is that surge of excitement that I feel on encountering an untouched field of fresh snow? My belly flutters in anticipation as I set out to make first tracks over a blank white landscape. Is this a white American thing? A European colonialist thing? The legacy of all those explorers and pioneers who arrived with the illusion that they were entering virgin territory? A sense of power over one’s environment? A way to make oneself stand out, be seen, be prominent? Is it kind of like a dog peeing on every street corner? Here I am! See me! I am here! I claim this territory. Look at the impact I have on the world! Or maybe it’s just fun to make marks on fresh canvas, like an artist. Probably one or the other. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 179: 134 words, TOTAL = 29,328; 30,672 remaining |
AuthorRobin Clifford Wood is a writer and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband and dogs, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her grown children and their multi-species families. Archives
November 2021
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