from morning thousand

…Don’t know and I don’t have time to focus on it or that sound, or the elevator anymore, but what I’m doing with wine, where I’m going with teaching, with writing.  No more promises or plans, just doing.  Need make some notes for meeting with English 100 group, just a couple.  I’m not stopping today… love that she, wife, has these classes early.  Lets a writer get up early, though I don’t always, or even most of the time, but I am now and I see the day more than eager to reward me.

Will be first time back in house since moving out.  Just going to dive in, charge the front door like an invader, or a removed people eager to take back their land.  Don’t think about that morning, October 9th, too often.  Try not to.  Morning when the fire and wind woke us and we headed to Mom and Dad’s, looking left and seeing all Fountaingrove in its conflagration.  When home, finally, I’ll take everything in… home.  HOME.  This hotel isn’t home but it’s been so for some weeks, now.  The contrast is rewarding and pedagogical, just as wine is.

More using elevator, and more sips from this coffee.  Light in front of me…