Pay my title no mind: I was listening to Tom Petty’s Wildflowers on my long drive up this short mountain. Besides, it’s no secret that I feel pretty darned good with the semester over, notification that my novel has won the Eric Hoffer Award in the micropress category, and a working vacation in progress to begin a new book.
I drove here to West Virginia a couple of days ago, alternating between brooding silence and blasting the stereo, both of which made me happy. Yes, it’s true that anyone traveling the highways of our great country must encounter silverized plastic testicles dangling lopsidedly from tow hitches—especially in Ohio—but up here there’s fragrant hickory smoke rising from chimneys and black cows grazing in long meadows along small rivers that course everywhere. I was driving a sporty rented coupe, and there was no snow, ice, fog, or pouring rain to slow me down for a change. It was like breaking a curse to find it still daylight in my final stretch up South Cheat Mountain, and it made me feel a little randy.
What lies ahead, I have no way of knowin’.
But under my feet, baby, grass is growin’.
Gotta move on, gotta get goin’.
I’ll be brief, as now there’s a thunderstorm rolling up the valley. This tiny community library, just-opened with a single Americorps staffer, may very well lose its internet connection, the only one available to me for miles around. I just wanted to duck in to say I’m out of the blogging office and will be back sometime next week.
Excuse me if I
have a place in my mind
I go from time to time.