The post Christmas mood often will have some casualties. Love gone bad, a wrong gift or just burnt cookies. With everyone home, the ole homestead can become a battle field. What's a guy to do?
The logging trails are snowed in, river access is difficult and not that inviting. I have this treatment of sorts that works for me. When the house gets a little louder than an International Airport I set up camp in a deep dark part of the attic near my stored fly fishing equipment. Things that I enjoy. Checking reels, rods, inventorying fly boxes, in other words...playing with my toys. I know that the hatches are months away, but it is soothing to my soul to spend some time holding those things that make life so enjoyable. The thought of warmer days to come, my rod in hand, I relive last years very successful trips to the river. So many trout and salmon. Released trout that will be there again. Ten inch Brookies that will be 12 inches. Where will they be hiding this season.
I am blessed with an imagination and the ability to day dream while looking attentive. These traits I developed in my school days. They were invaluable then and still are. In the attic I pass the afternoon away dreaming of slashing trout. Cabin fever will be knocking at the door soon so the imagination works surviving our snow bound northern hemisphere.
The attic offers a peaceful place that does not exist just one floor down. You just never bump into anyone in the attic. Those questions...where are you going? What are you doing? Hiding in the attic is like you are invisible. I guess only a lone back packer, fly fish angler or canoeist would understand. So until after the New Year when the tourist numbers drop, children return to college, and the cabin returns to normalcy, I'll return to where I keep some snacks and a cigar, in the attic for some peace on earth.
Sweet Is The Lore That Nature Brings