Reading: Richard Adams’ The Girl In A Swing.
I should not have turned on the computer to share this.
All weekend it has been off, and what a delicious experience of time has been encouraged by that alone.
Time to breath.
Time to read and really “get it” — Käthe, porcelain, the English countryside, a magnificent love, a dreadful ghost story — with the windows open, cicadas signalling, cool air flowing through the screens.
It is good being away from the desktop.
More than merely good — it is a necessity.
Now I may not add to that the big martini, the dill cheese, olives, and crackers, the time on the deck in the garden with the fading light, and the hamburger about to be fixed, but I have not missed the web, and I have missed living with and reading just one book, one passage, one marvelous sequence of sentences at one time — and most certainly not thinking about any of that while doing it.
* * *
How did we ever become so busy?
Change is coming as it does in modern states, northern latitudes, every years.
The kids go back to school, of course, and that’s wired into the experience of family, but even solitary old bachelors feel the tug that comes with the cool night air and sudden dry daylight.
What are you doing online?
* * *
I’m going to fix that hamburger, watch a movie — probably “Lincoln” — and get back to the book, windows open wide, just a shade early for stripping off the cotton blankets and laying on the wool.
Not yet, all that “sweater weather” — but it’s coming.
Perhaps so is going back to where I was before Univac, DOS, and Kaypro made their thrilling and confounding long ago entrance.
I was a reader back then.
I wanted to be a writer.
And again I’m reading.
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