The large man with elfin face and twinkling blue in his eyes said: "He thinks I'm stupid." He was smiling.
I crest a certain hill in Wisconsin. Beyond, the sweet, sickly scent of the north woods, which always reminds me of an outhouse.
A peediddle of mist on the windshild. The glum sky. The road making promises.
One must journey without expectations. Whatever I hope for eludes me. What I find is what I need.
A strip mall, there where a barn should be. We have learned nothing. The ability to pour concrete does not make a nation civilized.
A man from South Carolina has been talking to a woman planting flowers in front of the rest area. He must have just asked her how long it takes to get to Superior from here, and he liked the answer: "Well, then, I have time to stop and smell the roses."
Me? I have a full tank of gas and the pedal to the metal.
Even here, a thin green skin on the fields. Beneath a heavy grey sky, the terrible mercy of God.
Here, a "Collision Center." Someone is confident that we will continue to collide. There, a church. Someone else is confident that God still loves us.
There is a difference between expecting it and being ready when it arrives.
Understanding "gift" is a gift.
Low, slow crow,
where are you
can we expect
you'll get there?
The north shore -
water and rock