Summer Summer Moon
New feeling today. Got outside and moved some mulch into place, took some prunings back to the fire-pit for use during bonfires. It was hot since I got up late, making up for lost sleep yesterday. So I came inside to work.
Under the usual circumstances I would have done some Latin, then moved on to other tasks, perhaps starting the book about our life here. But as I sat down, I had this restless feeling (not unusual for me) and it led me to the bookshelves in the exercise area.
Soon I had books about the civil war in my hands, then in boxes. Green tape. Many books about old travels, a 1985 Guide to Living In Washington, D.C., a similarly aged guidebook to Mt. Vernon and Monticello. Books about Savannah, Charleston, the Piedmont, the Coastal Lands of the south. Red tape. Then, Willa Cather novels, Ambrose Bierce, Mark Twain, Theodore Dreiser, Richard Ford. Green tape. More boxes. Affluenza. Crocks of Gold. Medieval Village Life. Town and Country in the Middle Ages. Calvin’s Institutes. The Future of Religion. Red tape.
Clearing out the six bookshelves that form an L in the area where I work out has become important to me, important to finish before Thursday when the SortTossPack folks come with their truck and their crew. That was the new feeling. An aspect of the move had some urgency in my mind. Living in the move has become my home. This is different than methodically knocking down visits to financial counselors, interviewing real estate agents, or dismantling the dog feeding stalls.
This work took priority for me this afternoon.
When I finished, around 4 pm or so, I came into the office, sat down and wrote 1,000 words of what I’m provisionally calling: Seven Oaks and Artemis Honey.
