I have a preference for poetry and short stories over novels and non-fiction. I read a story a day, and maybe a few poems when I have time. Certainly reading and writing take up the bulk of my days now. Winter is coming and I know that this will be even more true as the temperatures cool and outside activities become shorter and maybe even forgotten for a time as an elliptical machine fills in.
Why does a person develop a love for short stories and poetry over other, larger forms of writing? This is an interesting question for psychologists. If one interviewed me, she’d likely find me a person with somewhat limited attention. I multi-task so well, it slows me down. I lose things, including my train of thought quite often.
As I type this, I am listening to a podcast from across the hall and watching sparrows flit about the tiny palm in front of my window. A squirrel ponders how to get into the bird feeder in the oak further out. Same quandary every day…same result. He can’t get in. A cardinal lands on a branch, bright red in majesty while blue jays have fits and try to run him off…oh, there goes the cat. Has she been fed yet? What about water? When will the dog wake up and wander my way so that I can take her around the yard for our morning walk and fence inspection? Bella, the cat, usually joins us, though ends up chasing her tail in one of the many patches of mulch I laid out where giant iron boulders have been extracted.
Strange how those boulders began appearing. It was as if Covid19 was stealing topsoil. It’s a side effect; I’m sure we’ll hear this later. Giant boulders began emerging from the earth below, their dirty, brassy surfaces protruding all around the yard, especially under trees. I had no choice but to grab a shovel and pluck them out, piling these artifacts high in a section of our large garden. (Surely this yard had been a major Indian intersection near a river because I found some excellent scrapers, tools.) I then filled the cavities with mulch from the garden. Bella has been in digging heaven–at last some soil, soft and loose, manageable for taking care of her bodily needs. I have to watch Cami, though. This aged, diaper-wearing, former-warrior-of-a-pit-bull often takes to the piles and will chew on any “finds” if we don’t stop her first. She has so few teeth left, I shudder to think…
The garden. Well, the garden is yellow, grassy, and spindly– overgrown after great yields from this past summer. It’s time to plow things under and get winter seeds in there. But we’ve been painting the barn, so when our energies are no longer needed there, hopefully there will still be time to plant winter crops such as carrots, radishes, turnips, beets, or leafy greens like spinach and kale. We like to add cabbage, broccoli, and cauliflower if we have room. All of these plants are hearty enough to withstand Austin’s form of colder temps, and SO nice to have on hand come December.
So back to the pondering of why some readers prefer short reads as opposed to longer reads. It’s a good question and one that I must think about more before wagering any guesses. Maybe you, dear reader, have some thoughts on this. For now, I see the donkeys begging at the fence, but I really must get back to book reviewing. So much depends upon a solid schedule each morning.