One-Sentence Journal, Weeks Eighty-Two, Eighty-Three, and Eighty-Four
02/12/2017: I thought I’d seen them a couple times recently, but this morning was the first confirmed sighting — and sounding — of red-winged blackbirds in my yard since last fall.
02/13/2017: Dark gray sky in the morning and the rolling landscape of Grass Valley, the snowy hills shaped by wind, thaw, and re-freezing, actually looks like the still image of a restless ocean.
02/14/2017: For once the delicious cooking smell in the neighborhood as I arrived home after dark was emanating from my house, courtesy of a crock pot that had been slowly about its business all day.
02/15/2017: I’m certain the pristine condition of my shirts at the end of the day lately has more to do with my beard serving as catch-all than it does any graduation to civilized eating on my part.
02/16/2017: The liberal moneyed class certainly keeps much of what I care about alive with their donations, but being in their presence — particularly large gatherings of them — trips most of my cultural alarms, and I’m at ease neither in their company nor in the company of my thoughts about them.
02/17/2017: A couple hours spent with writer/biologist Doug Chadwick and I’m reminded all over again that I totally missed my calling.
02/18/2017: Lamenting the current closure of my river stomping grounds, I nearly miss seeing a coyote out in the field if not for the quick eyes of a reliable companion in the passenger’s seat, and a quick u-turn saves the day.
02/19/2017: Half a century of hard-earned wisdom and dignity, yet a well-recited fart story remains capable of nearly putting me to the floor in laughter.
02/20/2017: An American Kestrel perches on a power line and tears bloody strips from the mouse dangling from its talons.
02/21/2017: A day trip to the state capital to join the most righteous of unruly mobs, an event enjoyed, camera in hand, with an ear-to-ear grin.
02/22/2017: Always seeming to be in one of only about three or four different places that comprise my world these days, I daydream about tossing a leather bag onto a motel bed, crossing a strange room to a window, and looking out onto an unfamiliar vista.
02/23/2017: Hope may spring eternal, but pessimism rolls along like a juggernaut.
02/24/2017: One of those nights, at the deep-in-the-dark hour of 9:00 PM, where I nearly fall asleep in the time it takes my brain to send my hand something meaningful to write.
02/25/2017: A day may come when reading a book where characters indulge at the table doesn’t inspire me to similar, ill-advised activity … but that day wasn’t today.
02/26/2017: There are worse ways to spend a Sunday afternoon than hanging out in a bookstore.
02/27/2017: In a miscalculation of epic proportions, I learned that yesterday was the final opportunity to feast at Tower Pizza, my favorite local pizza joint since I was a child, and I missed it.
02/28/2017: I scanned the writing I’ve been doing the last couple days for inspiration to something pithy and meaningful, and this is what I came up with.
03/01/2017: I’m pretty certain the thickness of one’s skin is directly proportional to the amount of rest one has acquired recently.
03/02/2017: Two old friends with guitars in hand and really loud amplifiers, in a room together for no reason other than to drink a couple beers and write some rock n’ roll songs.
03/03/2017: The things the body is able to produce and purge without slaying the host never cease to amaze me.
03/04/2017: Snow, slush, water, mud, and pine needles were all welcome surfaces my feet sauntered across this afternoon, and my heart, lungs, and spirit cheered them on with abandon.