Tuesday, September 30, 2008
FROM MORNING DRIVE JOURNAL
OCTOBER 1, 2002
A new moon, nearly a new life. That's Thursday, when I rise retired. The weight of what I'm doing is starting to hit me - nothing will ever be the same. Now I shall have to write as if I mean it, I can't be just a 4:00 a.m. dilettante.
I worry that I shall lose this journal - following the Vagabond path, I'm not sure how much I'll be able to spend thinking such thoughts, recording such notions. Perhaps my book tour in Iowa this month will give me some clue. Perhaps.
Perhaps it all means nothing. If I am meant to write further explorations, I shall. At least I shall make the space for it - some time each day for these kinds of notes.
I mowed the lawn yesterday for the first time since the beginning of July. It smells a bit like a hayfield. There's not a lot of clipped grass, but more than any of my neighbors collect.
South of Ripon, a gathering of crows along Highway E. They seem very wide-winged this morning. Sun on a crow shines like snow. The leading edge of the crow's wing is winter-white in the brightness.
OCTOBER 1, 2002
A new moon, nearly a new life. That's Thursday, when I rise retired. The weight of what I'm doing is starting to hit me - nothing will ever be the same. Now I shall have to write as if I mean it, I can't be just a 4:00 a.m. dilettante.
I worry that I shall lose this journal - following the Vagabond path, I'm not sure how much I'll be able to spend thinking such thoughts, recording such notions. Perhaps my book tour in Iowa this month will give me some clue. Perhaps.
Perhaps it all means nothing. If I am meant to write further explorations, I shall. At least I shall make the space for it - some time each day for these kinds of notes.
I mowed the lawn yesterday for the first time since the beginning of July. It smells a bit like a hayfield. There's not a lot of clipped grass, but more than any of my neighbors collect.
South of Ripon, a gathering of crows along Highway E. They seem very wide-winged this morning. Sun on a crow shines like snow. The leading edge of the crow's wing is winter-white in the brightness.
