A break

The fruit trees need pruned. I gotta...

The list is long, preparation longer and perhaps better known as procrastination. Or distractions less wearisome.

"What things do you do for fun?"

"See above."

And below.

Drunk is not one of them; still, it happened as way of celebration when the last app for a bit went out and I readied myself for a first full night's sleep in several weeks. More like a spike strip. But it worked. I arose at a decent hour after seven of them, had breakfast and coffee, and hit the road in the fog. I headed south for what I assumed would be a "soft" interview as I got to know the faculty I already knew a little better, see their work, and gently address what was foremost. Without going into details, I think it went well except I forgot to bring them potatoes.

Except they asked me about growing potatoes. Yet, we eventually got around to a mini-resumé. More of a fill-in from their tracked scan of my site the night before.

To and fro I wrote poems in my head. Hawks, herons, crows, voles, coyotes during lambing season. Which it is. All seen through the fog, you understand.

"Do you ever just breathe?"

(Cut to new scene)

"What are you doing, Honey?"

"Nothing."

(and back)

"You're breathing."

"I'm listening to music. I'm waiting for the paint to dry."

"Try breathing."

(away)

"I'm writing a post."

(back)

"Breathing."

(away)