“Great deeds cannot die; they with the sun and moon renew their light forever, blessing those that look on them.” Tennyson
I have a pile of old things, silent witnesses to old, good deeds. Old trunks, old letters, crumbling photos, keys and clocks…Here I am. About to turn back time and live out a small part of that mundane past. Normal to them, fascinating to me.
It’s what I already do, in the lives of the characters I write about. I slip into their 1880 senses and see through a sun-powered day, put my hands to man-powered work. The blood, sweat, and tears. The joy of turkey red thread. The cheer of crackling fire and flicker. Blackberries plucked and eaten like candy.
Of voices not yet tangled on radio waves, but laughing in the breeze, crying in deep, dark cold. Stories told, hymns sung, cornbread baked, chickens chased in…And a world that moves onward, through the daily trappings and heart changings.
I long for a part of that life, when my fingers still at the keyboard, when the chapter is done.
Want to come with me? Light your chamber stick, let it glow. This is going to be quite an experience, living an old way, one smidgen of 1880 at a time.
It’s our inheritance. What plunder will be found in the trunk? Alas, time will tell.