Blog posts anymore are tips of icebergs. I used to try to show it all, top to bottom. Now, the visible tip, if even that, finds its way above water. I miss the writing I used to do that was triggered by the slightest thread of curiosity or zeal.
But then, when I was doing that kind of regular daily writing twelve and thirteen years ago, I was home alone fifty or more hours a week.
I had no obligations in town back then, no press releases to edit, no agendas or minutes or committees to distract me.
It was a golden age, really, cloistered on my deserted island in time and space when writing in solitude, and archiving the moments as they came was the work I assigned to myself. The morning pages reflected hours of contemplation and research the day or days before, and sometimes the Good Elves cobbled a morning post while I slept–never later than 4:00 so as to get all the Fragments in place.
But the writer lives, as does his side-kick the photographer. And it just might be, over the next year, that the written wordÂ will take on a community reach. Some interesting things are happening that couldÂ make the language artsÂ lift above the waters of Floyd County in a way the region has not really knownÂ before.
But more about that, perhaps, in another season.
As for autumn, we’re about done with it. I offer you some images from Goose Creek covered in fallen leaves after the Storm of 2015 re-arranged our bank, leaving leaf-filled pools reflecting a sun that is less and less warm.
Click the LINKÂ for the full view, and there are a couple on either side of that in the SmugMug gallery.