Perhaps an adventure. Down the coast to Monterey, Big Sur, beyond. We will speak of Robinson Jeffers, Henry Miller, and Jack Kerouac. Others. We will summon memories, conjuring lonesome travelers.
Something, anything. It is time to get away. I will bring a book of poems and read them towards the air when no one is watching.
A friend had a stroke. It was apparently quite bad. He has been in intensive care for some time now. The news that makes its way out is hopeful but somehow not encouraging. "He has been smiling" is the latest. It all sounds very bad, deeply unfortunate and saddening. There was no insurance. There will be enormous bills, much time spent recovering as well as can be done. It has been distressing but there is little that I can do, little that anybody can do, though there are many who are committed to trying, myself among them. We are going to buy him an iPad to assist in his recovery. There are specialized apps that are meant to help.
He is my age, though nicer than me. We know that fear and love have their source in similar mysteries.
I will go to the gym this morning when the clock strikes six; stepping on to the exercise machine, dreaming of the coast line, of freely moving south, towards the southern waters.
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