Still Traveling, Still Crazy, Still Nothing and All

How will I stop wandering, and when?

Seattle lasted me a good three and a half weeks before I felt that pull again, before I picked up and went elsewhere. It's not you, Seattle, it's me...

You see, I have a lovely little Civic at my disposal; I am reunited with Sparkle Motion. Of course I drove south to Portland with Claire and Whit. I am still a traveler, a vagabond, a rolling stone.

A month has now passed—four weeks—since I returned to the United States. Work has continued apace. I have discontinued my morning photographs, at least for the most part. I reunited again and again with dear friends. I played Potlatch.

Last night, after a day of flower picking and cornhole and delicious miso-peanut-butter chicken, I reclined in the living room of the Fisher house, with a little glass of port in my hand and Hansine, George, Claire and Whit all about me. We discussed my future. George declared me a complex person: a rare honor?

A hummingbird rests on the telephone wire out stretched across the blue sky beyond me, still but for a bit of head swivel, a bit of observation and consideration. I look down for a moment at my computer; I look back up and the bird is gone.