Up at the desk farmer-early, just went out to feed chickens (hawk got another one yesterday, all helpful tips not helping, we’ve lost around ten now and are reduced to keeping them penned under a tiny area of netting, true solution is “extralegal”), now writing, got pep talk from editor yesterday (there are days I figure she rues the day my typing ever crossed her desk) (she operates in the realm of firm patience, whereas I operate in the realm of quaking diddle-ry), now listening to John Lydon sing with Golden Palominos, he opens the song with a resonant belch, that is to say an artistic belch, not the worst thing, really, and now I’m back to working on the book. Oh, and the Lydon belch reminds me, have to feed the pigs.
And all this just to say that after this past weekend with its travels and worry and laughter and even more its moments of quiet reflection I am operating in the awareness that freedom is a great hard-won gift, the winning of which requires perpetuity in small ways as well as big ways.
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