This state is chalk full of uneducated citizenry whose voting choices come down to two things. They believe in the sanctity of unborn babies and the right to arm bears, err, bare arms. Speaking of this, their tattoos are also pretty hideous.
I made it to and from the car without letting my opinions be known because I believe that my vote counts, no matter what the outcome.
I definitely was not in the eye of the hurricane when at the polls. Rather, I was touching the inner edge of the storm.
I returned to dead center this afternoon. I worked on my bicycling essay for some time. Yes, this is an instance in which my ambition does exceed my abilities as a writer. This has to be good because I am attempting to impress a mentor who for some reason ceased to communicate with me right after graduation, some 30 years ago. My other two mentors died some time ago, leaving me with no mentor at all. I have since been in a literary vacuum. The only reason I’ve kept at it is because, as my sister so aptly noted, “writing is you.”
I abandoned center for a bit in talking with our friend Gene, who today came to get compost. I railed about the fact that the director of the recycling center is being so short-sighted about the book project. But then, I returned to center when Gene and I started talking about the importance of books in people’s lives.
I maintained center after this; it’s easy to do when working with the animals. Shadow mounted up on Tinni on the picnic table and rode him all the way to the stump mounting block at the trail head. She, Tinni, Ryder and I had a wonderful walk, reviewing the devastation; that is, the treefall that occurred during yesterday’s windstorm. Shadow mounted up again (with some help) at the mounting block tree stump and rode Tinni back to the picnic table dismount station.
Animals are generally centered; it is we who in being uncentered throw them off.
This may be a good thing to keep in mind in the days ahead.
Next: 305. 11/4/20: The Joy of Joy