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 Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life. |
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I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance? I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them. Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog. |
| When the grandson stays over, I sleep on the futon in the spare room where his bed is to keep him company. When I say sleep, I mean sleep in all its various forms like tossing and turning, curling up in pain and desperately willing myself to stay in bed until a decent hour. I managed until 3:47am, at which point I turned on the coffee pot, knowing it would not be brewed before 4:00. Drinking coffee before 4:00 would be indecent. When I was a kid, I could sleep anywhere. I slept outside on the ground, straight through until the sun in my eyes woke me up or the grasshoppers clambering about the dry August grass made too much noise. I slept on the concrete floor of my friend's basement. When my kids were young, I regularly got up at 4:00 to write for a few peaceful hours before work. Now I get up at 4:00am because sleeping too long is painful. But it's nearly 5:00 and that's late enough to blog. |
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