from MORNING DRIVE JOURNAL NOVEMBER 12, 1998

The day dawned clear and blue,

as if God is apologizing for yesterday's wind, for the branches and trees blown down, and for the exercise we got just trying to stay where we were. Today's morning light is like grace, like a caress, like the look of love.

There has been some frost during the night; it lingers on windshield and the roof of the pick-up; but it is not sharply cold this morning at all. Yes, you can see your breath in the morning air, but that's about as cold as it is. Well - others might complain but I am feeling pretty good.

Some few more rows have been harvested of the only corn standing between Fairwater and Five Corners. The hawk is in a different tree in the middle of a different field, closer to the road, his breast turned to the warmth of the morning sun. Good morning, Hawk. Where peas had been taken, and a crop of beans, now there's a short green carpet of rye or wheat - a promise of another season. What we will be again is what we are.

A small puddle of standing water turned to ice during the night and is ice still. Ice is usually still; it is water that moves, and vapor. When ice moves, we call it glacier.

Another old building along East Fond du Lac Street in Ripon is being torn down. Another piece of history goes on the burn pile. How much of ourselves can we stand to erase?