It is February now, but that I should acknowledge that fact so ingenuously, as a means of apology for not having written for such an embarrassing length, is at its very best rather witless; the hallmark of month or season of my current contribution to this forum only becomes the prelude of future self-flagellation. Still, I remain contrite that I have not communicated to the very few that wish for something from wanderings and wonderings. Thank you Mary for so letting me know in your gracious and kind manner.
It is not that I haven’t dreamed of writing profusely and writing well. In the impossibly large drop of rain on the underbelly of the Viburnum fruit, early bird thrushes that dangerously flight in the headlights of my truck at 5am on the way to the gym, the campfire tears of too much smoke and laughter along deep, monsoon-drenched mountain trails in northern Vietnam, a pair of hearts pierced and emptied of air by the final farewell of two beloved canines, austral opportunities to refashion friendships in the wind-whipped gray of Patagonia surreally frothed by flamingoes in brackish water. All of these waxing-and full- and waning moon moments were at once or were to become my chimera, the dexterously forged novels and eulogies, a collection of short stories, biographies, fanciful trilogies, monographs and floras that I have all but taken bows for in Oslo. All but I have not yet taken the time to actually write a single word. [Read more…]