I used to talk to myself a lot during my college years. Maybe I had too much time on my hands. But our conversations were sometimes illuminating.
It was a sunny day, early in the fall semester. I sat beside a window on the library’s top floor. My limbs weighed heavy with pressing questions, the ones about distant destinations. From my oversized chair, I saw how the laurel oaks were shedding their leaves and already covering up paths. Was one of them mine?
I wanted out of that library.
The weight of my books didn’t matter. Back then, I needed only a single leather strap over my shoulder to tote around everything that mattered. My blue Jansport fit like a good home, still mobile enough for me to move.
A blank page is often black and full of clouds. And when the veil of watery voices rolls across the moon like a dark tide, the writer in me struggles toward the light.
But the fog is thick and filmy, and there is no speaking or writing in its haze. A pale glow sinks, or settles, far beyond the margins, drowning out any light with negative self-talk, shadowy and opaque.
Telling me that I’m trapped. Not good enough. Even guilty.
My sneakers kicked a path through the walnuts and conkers. My feet cut through brittle leaves and marrow-less sticks, stirring up dry, airy echoes, which snapped or crumbled into the broken black earth.
Before dusk, my family went for a slow walk through the woods. From time to time, I snuck in a little deeper. I went ahead or off to the side.
As I was leaving school today, I opened the door and was accosted by an old, wicked enemy: humidity. I did my best to remain calm and not complain to the coworker who walked beside me. Still, I couldn’t stop perspiring, just a little bit.
Believe it or not, the sun actually came out this evening for what felt like the first time in weeks. Maybe the novelty was enough for the folks around here to forget the soaring gas prices. I took this picture just a few minutes after a large rainstorm poured itself out in a fury. The sun lit up the sky powerfully and suddenly. If you were awake, you noticed it. After the sun lit up the neighborhood, my wife Toby and I went outside to soak in the fresh glow and maybe some vitamin D, too. Toby remarked how strange it was that the sky could change so quickly, so radically.