Day 459, September 27


There is more wood smoke in the morning. I saw a baby snapping turtle, but didn’t stop. There was a snake pressed flat in a perfect circle, and several crushed chipmunks, one I accidentally ran over (already flat). The road home was closed, and the workmen were still there as I passed, tired and putting things away for the day. It looked like it had been a hard one. I used to be an athlete, but not a competitive one, more focused on endurance and perseverance. Those are things that have served me well. To keep my head down and press forward, try not to get distracted by the flashing lights, sharp jabs, small infections. This morning, my toes were cold, and the tops of my hands. I imagined bicycling in a a down parka, the sound of the material rubbing like a twelve year-old going sledding. Moon boots. Today, I stood on the stage where I saw Herbie Hancock, Parliament-Funkadelic, John Hammond Jr., Robert Cray, and Kurt Vonnegut. Everything looked different from up there. I asked a young man about his nervous energy. I worried about what a letter might say, and what it might not say. Sometimes the evening feels heavy. Every lunch this week is spoken for. I could have asked for a palm reading two days ago. Instead, a woman pressed warm fingers into the space between my vertebrae and said she emerged more calm and relaxed than when she started. It is a practiced thing, the intentional slowing, the letting go. It was hard to hear because people were talking and two bands were playing, and a marching band passed by with giant marionettes. I am healing, a little less stiff. Starting to feel better. Everything is a process. Everything. 


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