I’m blahg-ing in the paper studio at Women’s Studio Workshop and really should be getting over to the Atwood House to get to bed; Brooklyn and the beater tomorrow! Depending on how long that takes, I will either attempt to drive straight to Ohio, or come back to spend another night here. The danger in that, of course, is that I will not want to leave.
I’ve been on the road for much of two days. Got in the car at noon Friday, struggled with snarls of Chicago traffic to leave, then drove in lovely sunny weather past the vast flat white fields of Indiana and the Ohio Firelands, some gleaming unending snowy planes , others marked with the linear calligraphy of winter stalks. Stopped in Cleveland for a couple of hours to visit with Smithfriends, then drove on into the night a few more hours to a midnight motel at the western end of I-86, near Lake Chautauqua. Today I made my way across NY state. It was just beautiful, but skirting the lower Catskills on route 17 was…glorious. There is no other word. Sun, the bluest of cerulean skies and cool sharp cobalt shadows on the snow; dancing flashing bright highlights on the even deeper blue rivers and creeks. The mountains themselves looked like draped towering weavings, like sharp salt and pepper tweed, or something woven from multi-fibered shifu; tall narrow trunks the warp, their shadows the weft. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
Then WSW, a long comical walk in slippery wet snow, like walking on loose sand, that stretched my legs back out nicely nonetheless; warm enough to wear just a sweater. Dinner and fine conversation with Ann and Tana in High Falls, more talks and fun with Kristen and residents, and now: hit publish, get out the flashlight, walk up the road a bit, and sleep.