So, I didn't post yesterday because I was traveling, and then I had a poetry workshop last night. I got home around five o'clock, unpacked, ate a quick dinner, and then headed out the door again. Didn't get back home until after 10 p.m. I was T-I-R-E-D.
This evening, I plan to relax. Maybe go have a drink with my wife. A last vacation hurrah, so to speak, even though my vacation ended yesterday. I have a busy weekend ahead. Church services and a couple writing projects. I may mow my lawn, if the weather cooperates.
I find myself being protective of my time right now. I have obligations in the coming weeks. Poetry readings and workshops and open mics. I also have to work on my course materials for the fall semester some time in the middle of all that. I find myself panicking a little bit right now. Trying not to hyperventilate.
I have choices to make--what I'm going to do and not going to do. I'm just not going to be able to do everything as the summer draws to a close. Of course, I feel kind of silly complaining about my problems when I have two friends who have lost their brothers. My problems really pale in comparison.
Saint Marty needs to keep everything in perspective these new few weeks.
Hitchhiking and Immortality
by: Keith Taylor
I was not paying much attention
in those days but still recognized it
immediately: nightingale song--
full-throated and resonant drifting
out of the woods beside a highway
somewhere in central France, where no cars
slowed in scintillating light
and where I thought I might never die.