I really ought to fulfill whatever promise I made to you all in my past post. That is, if you, dear readers, are not all in my imagination. But I really want to tell you a story about the snow. There isn't time now -- I have to go pick up my son at school, and we have the shopping to do and dinner to throw on the stove, and all those mundane home-keeping tasks-- but I want to tell you about it, because it's one of those stories that is part of who I believe myself to be.
Someday I will tell you how I lay on my belly in the snow, at the bottom of the hill. I'll tell you about the redness of my cheeks and the whiteness of the snow, and of the tangle of trees and brush around me in that palm-sized patch of woods. I'll tell you about the game my friend and I were playing as we sledded that day. And I'll tell you about the deer, how they leapt across the smooth snow, so close to me, just in front of the woods.
But not today, I haven't time...
Sara Renee Logan has been telling stories to everyone who would listen since she was seven. She organized storytimes for her college roommates, and spent a year at Oxford studying folklore and folktales. Many years as a Waldorf teacher allowed her to tell stories about everything from Baba Yaga's hut on chicken legs to the water cycle to the life of Joan of Arc. Sara shares her life with her partner, Melanie, their son, and an unreasonable family of pets. She continues to share her love of storytelling and stories with audiences of all ages, specializing in bringing the wild beauty of folktales to young and old. Sara writes about parenting, storytelling, and about living a life with stories.