Some men are like that, though. The ones who “prune” a tree by cutting all the branches like they’re dealing with asparagus and not a being with inherent grace, a form, a destiny. I don’t know how we get that way. It’s just not possible for me. Every weed and flower has a soul. When we lived in Maryland, I’d walk past a field of barley waving in the wind and feel the power like the tramp-tramp-tramp of marching armies. And a tree, my God. You have to ask permission of a thing like that. It wants to live, it has a purpose. Just ask the birds, if you can find one.
June 2, 2019. This road is steeper than it looks. In wet times it turns into chocolate slop and dries to polished stone. The ruts are deep enough you keep away. Can’t send her out on a road like this, she’d have to learn to drive my truck. On the other hand there might be [...]
A JHF classic! Originally published 12/8/2003. Maybe I should have been afraid, but I just wasn’t. The fact is, most mornings when I walk out to the road to get the paper, I do a special thing. Taking in the 80-mile view is one way to go to church, I guess, and the little ritual [...]
On our way back from walking yesterday, she said, “If we found a house we liked out here, I’d probably be very happy.” I concurred. This isn’t about housing, though. It never has been. It’s about a survivor learning to get out of his own way. That’s the mission. I’ll never get it fully done [...]
The profound alienation I often feel has raised its faceless head again. It always comes on suddenly. This time the trigger was another couple our age, retired of course, who moved to Taos a few years ago and love the concerts, readings, and gallery openings… Just wait, I think. I never came for those, although [...]