For the Bluing
When I’m down in a hollow and a home or cabin appears above, it’s always this strangely revelatory experience. Am I being watched? There could be eyes I’d never know, like some soldier hidden in his castle garret, as if I were a threat to watch for. What do I know about the thoughts of some stranger? Who watches the sleepy Nictaux River, roaring and rising, sinking and trickling, and the deer who feed in the floodplain meadow. It’s such a welcome sight to stay for the bluing evening — I’ve gotten weary of all the whites and greys these days. That orange metal roof brings a little something to the otherwise monochrome. The chill bites hard tonight, and the deep, dry snow is all the way weightless. Offering no resistance, each footfall sinking to solid ground. I’m just trying my best to get a grip on gravity.
February 1, 2026
Nictaux Falls, Nova Scotia
Year 19, Day 6657 of my daily journal.