I’m learning something new every day.
People are capable of change. They’re capable of growth, no matter their circumstance.
A consciousness is brewing within me. Pieces big and small assemble themselves in my vision. Specters of society and the individual loom large. It is strange that I happen to be here alone in this wilderness while my communities march. These ideas still linger in me.
I find myself caught. Thinking of my city. Feeling something in me–a renewed sense of personal responsibility maybe. And thinking of my time here. My personal responsibility to myself and my craft. It is nothing to waste. It is precious and rare.
There is an actual river outside my window. It’s moving at a more swift pace than usual. A brisk pace. And the hills beyond it rise into low hanging quill feather clouds. There is no wind. A lone birds nest. Sticks strewn on the deck. And there is not a single sound.
Yesterday was Day 5. It was sixty and sunny. I went for another long walk. Today I’ve skipped it due to the rain. Last night it stormed a mean one. It stormed a murder. A rage. It crashed lightning across the sky. Shook the panels of the house.
There is not much else to report. I’m still incubating.