In a world gone wrong, all kinds of wood work and repairing done right.
She always sat in the back seat. Driven to town by her husband as chauffeur. He opened the door for her and she would step out, hand in his; a simple errand appearing grandiose in the eyes of the daily city. The passenger side was where he hid the hooch.
A Declaration of Independence. The birth of a nation. A people’s history. A welcome shore. A fight for freedom. The post war boom. Puppets and patriotism. A war on drugs. The plight of the innocent. Racism. Segregation. The spoils of war. Hatred. Seclusion.
A night under the stars. A boat on a lake. Sport hunting. Capitalism. Corruption. An age of innocence. Renewal. Rebirth and rebuild. A land of opportunity. A place to be.
Be at peace with your decisions. They fly on the wind. They rest on the waters and make their way in spite of you. Know yourself. Explain yourself. Never make excuses.
Solstice today. Longest day of the year. There’s something in that. The preparations for winter begins.
I’m coming out of the coal and the wood smoke. Where the rivers run from reservoirs to everywhere but here. From the song of steel from anvils on fire. From the great forest felled that leveled ground to excise the frontier for houses.
Where the rivers ran from end to end capped in slippery spines of bark. Full to the brim with this new commerce. Dry soils filled with sand and rocks carried here by great glaciers, their bones make wary paths for plows in fields.
I have anxiety over writing. Anxiety over my future. It’s irrational and I never seem to get used to the feeling but it resides in me and it’s real. I can, to a degree, rationalize the irrational; a weakness and strength. I never questioned things to get out here just went with the momentum of my own energy and intention. Staying away from the bad and moving toward the good. As simple as asking: what are the makings of a productive day?
I feel very human today, not unlike the usual, but more vulnerable and real. More in it. More settled. Amidst the transition toward a more human version of myself and my place here, I contend with the purpose and the energy I left behind as it catches up with me.
There is no better reason to write than it is all that I know. Everything I do and experience must filter through this mesh of words. Sometimes a fence; sometimes at odds with themselves, these words—they convince me of myself.