1583 shopping days until 13.0.0.0.0 4 Ahau 3 K’ank’in.
cast off shells : crayfish and turtle egg
When I walk a mile, l like to walk a crooked mile. I have a crooked stick, a length of cypress salvaged from a tree broken in last winter’s ice storm, sanded smooth and rubbed with walnut oil, and I like to have my crooked stick when I walk a crooked mile. When I walk, I try not to have a destination, only waystations. It is important to turn on a whim. When I walk with my beagle, Annie, sometimes we follow her nose. It is desirable to cross waterways, streams, and rivers, because, as Heraklitos said so long ago, you can never cross the same river twice. Ponds can be circumnavigated, lakes accompanied along their shorelines. I like to leave the pavement, and stray from the path. I like to get lost, if I can. I tend look at the ground in front of me instead of the way ahead. I look to find the cast off and the cast away. I often rummage in other people’s trash. I like to look up and find myself someplace unexpected. I walk alleys and railroad tracks for the view; dirt roads to find the nowhere they go.
I have a crooked mind, and I walk a crooked mile to follow my crooked thoughts. When I walk on the riverbottom sand, as I did yesterday, I look back to see if my tracks are following me.
