This is It

So, this guy I know here in town posted this picture on Facebook. I’m not putting it up over here, because I didn’t ask him if I could and he is, apparently, mid-walk, so I can’t ask him now.

But I still want to talk about it, because it makes me so happy. So, yes, to start with, the filter he’s using makes the picture almost look like a drawing, like, if you were going to read a fairytale about Nashville, the protagonist would have to cross this bridge in order for the story to properly start. This picture would be the first illustration in the text. I love the craggly tree on the left, which, you know, is going to fill with crows just as you’re starting to step onto the bridge.

I love that the bridge looks like it cannot possibly be a bridge that exists in the world. And I love that I know right where that bridge is. I love the double x-es in the support of the bridge, which seems to indicate that crossing the bridge is a bad idea. I love the warm glow of the concrete path that still entices you to walk over it.

I love the double layer of fencing that suggests something is being held back, that, by crossing the bridge, you’re going into a place full of forces that take a lot to keep them from leaking into our world.

And when I write about Nashville, this is so what I want it to be like–like something ordinary has had the right light shined on it, the right filter placed on it, so that you can see it for the mystery it could have, if only someone would imbue it with some.

The Problem, As I See It

I literally did not leave the house all weekend. Granted, the weather was crappy and I had squares to crochet and words to write and I did all that and felt very accomplished. But I didn’t leave the house all weekend. I had a good excuse.

But I barely left the house last weekend. And the weather was lovely. And yes, I had a good excuse. I was “recharging” from Thanksgiving.

But the weekend before that, when I was “gearing up for Thanksgiving”? I left the house once.

I am content to sit in the house. I am content to make no plans or as few a plans as I can get away with and thus see few of the people who I like and care about. And, should they notice, I can truthfully say that I’m fine, because I am fine. I’m just fine in a way that is less rich than usual.

I haven’t read a book since Sadie died. I don’t have any good fiction ideas. I’ve only written one story.

And the time when I mull things over? My walks? They’re kind of not working for me.

I am not ready in my heart for another dog. But I’m starting to be concerned about what happens to the rest of my life while my heart dithers.

And I’m starting to wonder if I’m just not respecting the Year of Things I Feel Ambiguously About by expecting the question of whether the time is right to get another dog to be answered unambiguously.

In related news, we learned of a yellow lab in need of a home.