My Walden


By D.A. Donaldson

Snow twits. That’s what you called them, those seasonal cabin dwellers who came out to the lake in the coldest, snowiest weather to “get their Thoreau on,” as if a week of frozen solitude might somehow ignite the Nobel within. “Damn fools,” you said, “it’s the person, not the place.”

After you left, I took my pen and notebook out the back door and through the snow to the shed, fixed with a desk and a space heater and a Dietz lantern, and there my mind traversed the fantastical outskirts of imagination, and I wrote. A Thoreau twit, I guess.

“The best part of writing is that it’s often a surprise and sometimes a shock to see what I’ve written.” – the writer

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