where warmth is stored in winter

by woodshed

i’m thinking about turning inwards
as brooklyn takes it’s tiny dive into winter.
the winter, to me, is a beautifully solitary and barren time.
after the final crisp flurry of fall, i get a chance to embrace something dark and quiet.
stick season.

and i’m thinking about the title of this little correspondence

W O O D S H E D.

and i want to spend a second explaining what the idea of Woodshed(ing) means to me…
i was introduced to the woodshed by one, Milford Graves, a truly innovative modern sage.

Woodshed, it’s a wholesome noun’y verb.
to woodshed is to take an idea, or a craft,
take it and work with it, chew it up, taste it.
learn it, learn from it, teach yourself new names for it.
find the true name of it.
the true task of it.
take it to the woodshed, and work.
to woodshed can take a long time.
it’s a slow world in the woodshed.
a world of roots and twine, tiny buds, all the seasons, birds molting one day and flying south the next.
it’s ephemeral in the woodshed.
the beauty is you don’t know what to expect from the task at hand.
when one takes the time to woodshed, there is a union that is formed.
full of surprise. and set backs. unknowns.
it’s a re-education.

it’s a way of learning that really really works for me.
and i feel so blessed that i get to do that with my loom.
a ‘loom’ of one’s own.
(man, virginia woolf sure knew how to woodshed).
this winter will be more of a turning in than i am used to.
relying on my craft while little things beautifully crumble, drop their leaves, and hibernate around me.
i am thankful.