Tuesday, September 23, 2008
FROM MORNING DRIVE JOURNAL
SEPTEMBER 24, 2002
The day comes in like a silken curtain blown by gentle breeze. Morning light is the sheen of silk. It's a cool blue sky, distinctly autumn. I don't have to run away because I'm already there.
Clouds to the west and northwest - a darkness against the blue behind it. Where the alfalfa field had been last year - spikes of rye are coming up. Some of the irrigation rigs along Highway E are spraying water this morning.
Farther north, the smell of pig shit, a sudden freshness of country.
Moon rock in the western sky - hanging bright in a bright sky. You have to love its loveliness.
SEPTEMBER 24, 2002
The day comes in like a silken curtain blown by gentle breeze. Morning light is the sheen of silk. It's a cool blue sky, distinctly autumn. I don't have to run away because I'm already there.
Clouds to the west and northwest - a darkness against the blue behind it. Where the alfalfa field had been last year - spikes of rye are coming up. Some of the irrigation rigs along Highway E are spraying water this morning.
Farther north, the smell of pig shit, a sudden freshness of country.
Moon rock in the western sky - hanging bright in a bright sky. You have to love its loveliness.
