deepwaterwritingprompts:Text: Our woods are different, bleach white trees standing still and le
deepwaterwritingprompts:Text: Our woods are different, bleach white trees standing still and leafless. We ache deep inside as we approach, and bone recognizes bone. My Dearest Ondrej, Was my last letter really so despairing as to fill you with concern for my well-being? Ease your heart. If a barrenness sets over my moods during the winter, then I am no worse off than the earth. In any case, you need worry no more, for the days are getting warmer and it is once again marrowing season! If it will bring you joy, please imagine me setting out towards the woods alongside the foresters and their eager children, taps and buckets in hand, the cold reddening our cheeks and noses. We are quite busy as elves, Ondrej, moving from tree to tree and drilling in the holes and hanging up our buckets. Even the little ones can participate, helping to cart around the buckets, or cheekily sticking their little fingers in, all red and gory like little scavengers, to help themselves to the first fresh taste of marrow. The evenings are jolly again, with mugs of steaming marrow broth passed around, or molded with berries into dainty little patty-cakes of pemmican. All bellies are warm and lips are bright with grease. It is quite impossible to remain melancholy here once marrowing season comes around. Certainly, there is a value in bleakness. I can think of no more profound human experience than looking out at the trees in winter, lifeless and stark against the snow, and feeling that bone-deep ache of recognition within one’s core. But life, ah, life reasserts itself despite everything, and even within stark bone there is all the complex reticulation of flowing blood and marrow, and what is even the most brooding of poets to do, eh, other than fix their lips around the wound and suck the marrow out?In any case, soon it will be spring, properly, and then summer, and the weather will become warmer, and the trees shall start bleeding again and begin to stink most fearsomely, and we will once again have to reconcile ourselves to the reality that life - Ah! - life is a horror in itself! As always, it is lovely to hear from you, and I eagerly await your next letter. I remain well. Give little Katya all my love. Yours in Deepest Affection, Franz -- source link
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