Monday, September 22, 2008

SEPTEMBER 23, 2002

We have faint haze. Faint haze is not, I think, faint praise. The sun is a loud cheer in the east - hurrah for morning, hurrah for autumn coming.

No wind in the flag at the cemetery. With my coming retirement, how many times shall I write that sentence in the future? How often shall I find msyelf in the middle of this paragraph? I'm expecting to be some place else - metaphorically-speaking. Where? And what shall I watch for?

On Saturday I saw a group of sandhill cranes over in the sand country - a couple hundred of them staging for a trip south. The year unrolls like a carpet before the queen. The sky turns blue, it always turns blue eventually.

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