Thursday, August 21, 2008

AUGUST 22, 2002

We had storms roll through last evening - rain, thunder, lightning. It was less severe here than to the north or south of us, I think. The day has dawned grey and a little damp again.

It must be less than 30 work days I have left before my "retirement" from printing. I am stepping into my life as a writer. I'm stepping there again, having failed at it financially in the 1970s. This time, money is not the thing; rather, I want to do what I need to do.

It'll mean we will have to live poor. We have lived poor before. Or, as Mary says, "we'll have to live poorer."

I step out to the car. There's a thick greyness overhead.

Nothing disturbs the flag at the cemetery this morning. It hangs wet and flat.

I drive through my emptiness towards another day of work.

The donkeys at Five Corners are darker than the day's greyness, wet as the sky. They graze in tall grass, heads down, observing nothing but the essentials of their lives.

Isn't that what I try to do - observe the essentials of this life? That's what I want to continue doing even into retirement.

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