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I'll never be a writer

"So, Elizabeth is punching dough today. I'll be splitting wood. The dogs will be chasing chipmunks in the woodpiles. Something else will be happening out there in Chicago and Houston and Tampa and Philadelphia and even in New York. Above us, thirty thousand feet aloft, there'll be air masses moving, weather patterns developing; beyond that, going into the blackness, out to the cold stars, there'll be who knows what going on - comets, milky things, maybe strange sounds, orbits, and gravitational pulls - but down here on the Fix Ranch we will be splitting wood and punching bread."

-from Winter: Notes From Montana by Rick Bass.

posted by Werd @ 12:22 AM