Hello, Dear One!
For those of you who are new here, welcome to my strange and nerdy little world in the breakfast nook of my kitchen, inside a small treehouse in the woods, on the edge of a not-so-big-town, smack-dab in the middle of the lovely, temperate piedmont of North Carolina, USA.
Here is where I practice the arithmetic of the tiny seasons.
Better than anything else, I love to walk along our local forest trails to relax and to think about what these walks are teaching me. As the cells in my body and the thoughts in my mind continuously renew, I conduct various written and artistic experiments to see if I can tap into how my own inner microseasons mirror the natural world around me.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about the many units available to us for dividing up the year.
1 Year =
525,600 minutes
8,760 hours
365 days
72 micro-seasons
52 weeks
12 months
4 seasons
You will notice that the microseasons lie right in the middle of this list. And I think the number 72 is an elegant way to gather time—neither too precise nor too vague—a manageable, human-sized block of 5 days. For me, it’s exactly the perfect interval to appreciate the continuous unfolding of time on our slowly turning planet.
This is an ancient idea, but I think it’s more useful than ever in a modern world hungry for depth and simplicity.
The mysterious clockwork that moves the microseasons runs smoothly. It calms me. And I feel no jolt when the gears are shifting from one microseason to the next. It’s just one, long, smooth arc of days circling around the sun, delicate and precise, like a sweep-second hand built by the finest watchmaker.
I like to think that it is the poet’s
love of particulars,
the things of this world,
that lead to universals.
—Stanley Kunitz
The particulars fascinate me. Each microseason holds its own unique gifts and I love to see how many I can find on a single hike along a familiar path.
For example:
Last summer, I came upon an inchworm in the middle of her (very energetic!) morning yoga practice. Seriously, I cannot make this up. And of course, I made a video for you. I’m sure there’s a logical scientific reason for her activity, but what I love is this tiny being’s sheer joy at being alive, and her funny little moving shadow, and especially the way she eventually falls off her leafy yoga mat all together—yet she just keeps going. I feel exactly like her most days—Hurray for Life! Whoops!!! I’m OK!
You can observe the microseasons however you want to. I use the phone in my pocket to take all my photos and videos. I also like the Notes app.
My analog writing tools are very simple. I use a yellow legal pad divided into three columns to put my hazy ideas into written form. I literally just take a ruler and draw 3 columns on the page and I label the columns: Senses, Thoughts & Questions, and Feelings. This helps me to sort out the sensorial, conceptual, and emotional components of each microseason. I also like those black and white marbled theme books that cost only a dollar or two.
For more permanent thoughts, I write on index cards filed into my Idea Lab.
What kind of a net do you like to use to catch your best thoughts?
I would love to know.
The trail is calling me now (and Killian is looking at his doggy watch).
I’ll see you in a new microseason,
xo Ann
I love the inchworm video! Reminds me of last summer, I watched a katydid make its way across my deck, ever so slowly and cautiously, the legs and antennae gingerly reaching out to find its place in the world before moving on. It finally crawled onto a bush beside the deck's edge and it was a thrill and a gift to spend time with him/her! A delicate green creature of magical mystery!
Wow, that inchworm! Yoga or belly dancing? Thanks for sharing that, Ann.