A few days ago I found myself wondering about how early inhabitants dealt with the cold gray often rainy weather that seems to define “winter” here in the Northwest. No prozac or full-spectrum bulbs. I like to imagine that everyone just hunkered down in the lodge house and told stories. By lodge house I don’t mean the large log building at the end of the ski run serving nice drinks.

For a longtime I’ve been fascinated with Haiti.  I’m not sure if this book of short stories helped form this fascination I have of the country or if I acquired the book because of my interest. Don’t really know where this book came from. Although according to the price tag on the back — it lived in Borders at some point.

On one of those pages at the beginning reserved for quotes there is an excerpt by Sal Scalora, “White Darkness/Black Dreaming” Haiti Feeding the Spirit:

“Krik? Krak! Somewhere by the seacoast I feel a breath of warm sea air and hear the laughter of children. An old granny smokes her pipe, surrounded by the village children…’We tell the stories so that the young ones will know what came before them. They ask Krik? We say Krak! Our stories are kept in our hearts.’”

Sometimes consciously exploring why I like a collection of stories eliminates some of the magic.