Last week, I was hauling mammoth logs from a chill stream and heaving them into rickety ‘cabin’ piles so they could sprout shiitake mushrooms. Now, I’m staring at a screen, sitting in a chair that, while comfy, can’t quite take the edge off eight hours.
If the future held only pavement and parking tickets, yes, my soul would be careening towards permanent raisinhood. But the immediate future holds a cozy, mouse-free home, my wife’s friendly family, a hot bath (perhaps several), months of serious writing, and my own computer. I am dreadfully excited.