i didnít say a word. not for any reason other
than i didnít see anyone else all day. maybe
iíll take a break from all media, just to see how
the days here drift by, one moment to the next,
passing downpours kept me in bed. why bother
not going to cut grass
when itís wet.
when it cleared, i picked oranges
with a small metal cage
attached to a long bamboo pole, sometimes cradling
fruit then tugging it free with bent wire fingers,
knocking ripe clusters; five
fell all at once.
i dug out the novel i more or less
finished writing last time here:
White Bluff. it doesnít pop
as a book but maybe as
a screenplay? i'm better
visually than wordly.
reading it is kind of
painful so it was a
relief to go mowing
after 20 of its 168 pages.
i got here last week iíd plumb forgot what the
deere 5200's dozen different levers and pedals
for, but after a quick refresher the feel for it
back. youíd think this task would allow the
wander but itís pretty steep here so i stay
what iím doing, no
real room for daydreaming and
that's a good thing after a morning of agonizing
words. once i get started it's hard to stop but i
backed the tractor into its quonset hut. the
is tricky in reverse but iím relearning that
visited the chickens with empty basket and
of feed, a purely transactional relationship.
spent some time with the drooling
cat, both disgusting and adorable.
found a nice lemon on the
ground, cut it in half, juiced
it into some water, conscious
of each small movement.
darkness encroached as sun set on other
side of mountain. the moon came as a
rising large and orange out of the ocean, teasing
in and out of shreds of clouds. it looked full to