I am going someplace far away next week. Only a few hours in space-time, but (I hope) it will represent a huge distance in self. Now that I say that, I'm afraid I've cursed it, but the only changes to yourself are the ones you make, so I'll just have to work extra hard. I'm going to visit the sand and the ocean and the grass, to hang out with the birds and the cottonmouths, just me and my piles of paper. I made this plan over the course of one day, and it may be my best yet.

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I had a big plan, much bigger, monstrous really, for the further future, and I couldn't take action and it fell apart. Secretly, I'm not sad. I want to stay home with my garden and my rat and my love - not a consolation but a Truth.

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My mother thinks I will get wet, subsequently become hypothermic, and barring that be murdered by a crazy person. She didn't think those things when she did this herself, and she was four years younger then than I am now. After I did my own thing for a year, my previous Biggest Thing, I've found myself retracing my parents' lives (geographically, mentally, emotionally) and I don't mind it. Not a whit. Not a step. Not a crumb.

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The photographs I want to post here only exist physically and I don't have time to scan them, so just imagine my shadow among the blades of grass slicing through sand, latticing themselves across the ground in a double-layer. Imagine a light-leak. Imagine that one band is inexplicably bluer than the rest.