even a week before it’s started. I’m ready for the Road, for Newness, for travel and meeting other writers in other states and countries and introducing them to new ways of writing and reading. Education, forever. Wine, my hobby, but still pertinent.
9:15… five minutes till I have to drive in this despicable weather, up to Geyserville. Feel either a cold or something furthering its advance, but not too fast. It’s methodical, cunning, slow. Look at all I’m doing, I can’t afford to get sick. Not one gear in me can slow. The story is alive as am I and I won’t stop for a germ, a person, a look, a check, or a stop light. I’m moving.