I've been reading court decisions again today. Rain does that to me. When it rains I turn to "real work" deadlines. This time of year, when the sun comes out, I want to be outdoors. It's too bad it doesn't rain more often so I don't have to miss the sunshine. I'm waiting for a computer whose screen is easy to read in bright daylight. Does it already exist?
Annie Dillard, in The Writing Life, mentioned how she preferred to write in a place that didn't draw her attention away from her writing. Her "office" sounded miserable to me. I like to think an attractive space helps me concentrate on writing. Ignore me. I'm far from the writer she is.
Yesterday the rented rototiller turned, cut and exposed scads of wiregrass to beating sunlight. The exposed earth was hard, as if a drought approached. Today the grass lies there, softening, reaching back into the ground to re-root. I yearn to harvest it with a rake, starve it to certain death, but mud is not the answer.
From dust to dust, the old saying goes. Maybe in the rainforest, folks say from mud to mud. A drunk drives into a tree, or an embezzler commits suicide, and certain friends insist "you get what you deserve." Like Thomas Jefferson, whom they quote when it's convenient and disavow when it's not, they seem to have scratched out their own version of the New Testament, except theirs has been slimmed down to these few words, "the poor will always be with you." I don't think the speaker meant for us to ensure they always are.
"Your crayons have strayed outside the lines," says Virginia.
I guess I should order new coloring books. (See the poem, "Scribble" in my "Think Beyond" posting for April 9, 2010.)
The Bowman Women; A Work In Progress
1 month ago