I was 25 and alone. I didn’t have a car or plans on the weekends. I got up and made coffee and went out for the day.
In less than a week I ate most of a small ham by myself, oftentimes eating it cold by my computer for breakfast with a hard-boiled egg and coffee.
How the days unfurled unexpected and just hung there in the light.
It is a small but very precious part of me hanging in our front window.
Lily, born today and growing up in that little house in West Seattle behind the Sub Shop #9 and the corner bar we never once visited, Chuck and Sally’s.
It’s a game where there is no winning, only the joy in the odd and unexplained.
Maybe the art was in the refashioning of otherwise useless things.
That was the first time I realized that just because you put something in print doesn’t make it any better than it was from the start.
I started to learn that to write is to live, and you can’t do much of the former without the latter.
Early morning walks from the cottage in January as the light is coming on earlier day by day.