dogs like to dig

8/10/04
      

Lake water blind. Blue sky blind. White clothes blind. Perfection. Unreachable. Not to capture. Moment’s mementoes non-moments. Aftermath. Afternoon. Lobster stew. The sun licks heat onto my arm hairs. When it comes right down to it, who’s to say.

I have learned the writer writes in community – or doesn’t. Places of mystery or enchantment. I am angry at punditry and the newspaper. Becalmed without vision. The difference between this and writing is the quality of the story. Something doesn’t always happen.

Political element – flag flaps in the wind. Dogs like to dig, but not to scrawl. Crawl. Letter to Peter about burrows, badgers, beetles, crawling beasties, more solidly clever than bats, which hang. Email from Brenda. Aftermath.

The Journal develops its own quirks and codes as an Artifact. Excursion. Excuse me. Haphazard. The sun licks hotly down the hairs of my legs.