February 2015. That old game–where you turn to the east, turn to the west, turn to the one that you love best–resembles my life right now. I’m not home, although I’m close. There’s still the unfamiliar about every day. I’m still turning.
When I turn east, the glow of the sun rising gets me up each morning. To the west, I see a murder of crows crossing the gray sky, the moon going down behind a tangle of branches, a red glow hovering over the Pacific just out of sight. That’s what I love best–the world bringing its beauty without my bidding.
In a few days I’m going to the desert, to work at a research center just a stone’s throw from the trails and campsites I used to visit with my family when I was little. Perhaps there, among the bighorn sheep and Anna’s hummingbirds and roadrunners and native palms I shared with my parents and siblings for many years, all the turning will find its way into my writing. It’s been unruly and wild–but not in a good way.
If you’d like to come along, follow my blog. I do my best to keep up with Monday postings about the writing life. And you can sign up for my sometimes-monthly e-postcard to receive short and sweet updates on events I’m giving. I’d love to see you there, and I’d love to know how your writing life goes.