Up with Jack, 6:41AM, and I have the coffee at ready.  Ran 6.33 miles last night in a time I’ve never before hit, averaging 7:49/mile if I’m not error’d.  So I feel amazing this morning, only that I wish I’d woken earlier, to have one of my Hemingway sessions.  But I can only wish so much, and I’m tired of wishing.  Last night, only 1 glass of the ’11 Merlot, which maketh me more mobile in A.M., the less wine I sip.  Planning another run tonight, so I won’t be tasting too much today, behind that counter, nor from tanks, or bbls.  Want the head to be clear, for both poem and prose.  Still have to respond to student blog postings, and plan lecture for tomorrow.

A beautiful day promise, hot and clear.  Hoping I see a snake, preferably a rattler as I did last year.  Wildlife documenting, in the Amazon for example, or Yellowstone, something I see doing.. for Nat Geo possibly, or some other publication– going out for the New Yorker, or NTY, or even the SF Chron.  I want assignments, just as my students have, although mine would make me mobile– articles, stories, sketches.. then later a book.  The ideas in me, now, in the A.M., assault me, and I don’t mind.  Keep them coming…

Coffee.. another sip.  Mom and Dad in Sunriver.. could write about Mt. Bachelor, or the river, or the bike paths, or the golf course pictures in winter..  Just so much to see out there for this writer.. my thoughts torment me, telling me I should be out there– THERE, not here in this pattern, but you’ve heard this before.

Looking out at a field, small lake in distance guarded by mountains.  No movements, only though from a watchful groundhog, I think it is.  He remains still for well over a minute.  I don’t want to even bring out the pen, paper from back pocket.  He’ll see, if he’s not already focused on me.  Or maybe he’s enjoying the view, like me.  We have so much in common, at the Now.. we’re observers, we want to just look, out, at all this.  When he trots off, I go back to looking, how the sharp blue of the sky blends with such a circulatory softness with the fields, and the patched gentle white on those peaks.  I have to get back to my hotel room before it’s dark, but I think that’s a couple hours away still, so I’m fine.  Then a bear, of some kind, quite far away.  I start to write, about its slow movements, its downed head, looking at the ground– now she lifts her snout, eyes, looks around, like me.  My first time here and I’m so welcomed.  Clouds.. where did they come from?  Many of them, wanting to have this scene theirs.. thirty minutes later, they’ve nearly occupied the sky like a revenge invasion.  The drops’ll find us soon, so I have to go back to the room, overlooking those trees, where the bison show up from time to time.  And work, type what I’ve found.  But what if I don’t want to?  What if I just want to keep it here, with me.. leave it with the powdered tops, tall wild blades, and the little coated character that could only stare?  It’s meant to be a moment, and left.  “Don’t write it,” I tell mySelf.  Make something else up for them…  (7AM)