Thoughts in the early morning

In fairness I am writing to write, but I am wanting to do so. I suppose in resuming an activity that takes up time that were used elsewhere.

As to COVID statistical readings, I admit having resumed especially in the past two weeks doing such, there is much the daily routine of activities. Between looking after a daughter, and less events a year ago more commonplace- visits to the zoo, more social toddler activities, errand running, and anything worldly social that one might imagine being typically socially mobile in other ways, and as to travel it seems another matter, cautiously I think at least a year if not another into the future, if one could only convince another that camping were so much the real deal and having a bad time window the year before, despite a tent bound battery operated fan providing so much relief on a sweltering late summer Midwestern day. At least camping I recently read were ranked so much on the least risk category of activities by doctors, provided in low enough population density and having avoided the campground toilets, I might add. While one might pause as to introspecting the thoughts, life on hold, I see this I think as an adaptation, a continuum between personal economy and now the present. Mostly it is mindset.

A realization had recently dawned on me in the past couple of weeks. Part of this stemming from a temporary interruption in life, I had been recovering from surgery recently, my thoughts about speaking have changed. I am not sure if it is one given by a change in habit, a lost fluency, or merely an emerged reticence in doing so. That in listening, if also reflexive, it is consciously worldly enough, cognizant of a daily narrative, as already partially mentioned. This drawing to easily gained silent portraits painted by the common imagery. It is comfortable self admittedly.

Recently I was moved to tears over a recent rendition of an old Woody Gutherie tune a tune my wife played for my daughter and I. The tune Way Over Yonder in the Minor Key by Billy Bragg. I have to admit I liked the sadness of the tune, the simple delivery. Rereading Gutherie’s biography likely instilled more emotion in much of this.



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