The path from my studio to the back door is short. The light is on in the kitchen, but I can’t see the back door in the darkness. I know where it is though, mostly. The basket with my laptop, iPhone, sketch pad, and empty teacup is secure on my arm. I kick my foot in front of me when I think I’ve gotten to the step up to the door. When I feel it I step up then reach out for the doorknob.
I know that Fate’s right behind me. Not because I can see her, but it’s where she always is this time of night.
If it were the summer I’d still be in my studio. But it’s 5 pm on the day before the Winter Solstice, so it’s dark out and getting cold in my studio.
Inside the house, the woodstoves have a thick bed of glowing coals that have been keeping the house warm all day. I want to be sitting at the dining room table, a cup of wine next to my laptop as I blog.
Once there, I plug in my iPhone and download the day’s photos. There are so many more than I’ll post. I look through them editing out the ones I won’t be using, uploading the ones that might.
Sometimes I choose a photo knowing what I want to say about it. Other times I let it tell me its story.
What I just wrote is the story the still life of the spool, thimble, needles, and note wanted me to tell. Not a story about them, but about how they got onto my blog.