Why are you in the middle of the F@#king field in a snow storm?
-shouted from a passing truck
Why do I wake up and reach for pen and pad to scrawl a discombobulated line at two am? Why do I mumble to myself as I peruse the grocery shelves, stare at the shredded wheat and think of fields of barley swaying in meter and verse? Why must every tragedy and blessing be recalled with hidden meanings and metaphors of butterflies or clocks or flying moons? Why must I return to the house if I’ve left without a pen or beg another paper napkin from the waitress? Why do I go for walks through a desolate field in a snow storm?
--kdejones
I was perusing old journals as we approached this last workshop and came across this line that I had jotted down--after walking through a field in a snow storm. Sometimes it's hard to explain exactly why the heck we have to be wandering.
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