That's me in someone's mirror across from the their driveway. I got out too damn late today and it was hot and I did not cover seven miles but I did go five and some and that was plenty for me.
It was beautiful out but by the time I got back to my car, I was done and then some.
Still, I walked five days this week and my distance was a little over 28 miles for those five days.
And I saw these, among other things.
Fleabane. Perhaps prairie fleabane.
I know I've posted this flower before and probably the fleabane as well but they are just so pretty.
A long time ago, Jessie and Vergil told me I should listen to a podcast called S-Town and I duly made a note of it and even subscribed to it at some point but had never listened to a minute of it until yesterday when the book I was listening to ran out before my miles did. I thumbed my phone and found S-Town and hit the little triangle for play and, as these things sometimes happen, I will never quite be the same again. I got through a good many episodes yesterday and finished listening to it today and immediately started googling it, lapping up the pictures of the folks who'd been interviewed in it as well as any more information available about the story because people, this piece of radio reporting about a man in Alabama named John B. McLemore and the small town he lived in was art and it was beautiful and profane and painful and horrible and wonderful and filled with angels and demons and clocks and time and climate change and tattoos and lust and love and ignorance and madness and genius all at once, all bound together in a way that felt like the maze John B. created with rose bushes and gates where one minute I thought, okay, all is revealed, uh-huh, and the next minute like, whoa, how in hell do I get from here to the truth of it all, the center, the heart, the meaning, the way out?
And I have no idea. I doubt there is one.
But I know I'll never in my life forget that town and mostly, I'll never forget John B. McLemore, and I have no doubt I'll listen to it again. And maybe again.
And then again.
So I guess what I'm saying here is, please listen to this podcast if you have not.
And if you have- tell me what you think about it, please.
As I wrote to a dear friend, "It blew me away," and although that may be a hippiefied hackneyed phrase, I could not come up with a better description unless I'd said, "It blew my mind," and well, yes, that too.
I fixed two overall straps today. I gave the chickens fresh water. I washed the sheets and dried them on the line and made up the bed. I tried to take a nap but my left leg would not let me.
I pulled a giant spent collard plant from the garden with lots of tasty bugs on it and gave most of it to the chicks and they flocked around it and ate as if they'd never seen greens before.
I'm about to go make a venison meatloaf. It is still hot and the cicadas' chant is rising and falling and the air conditioning rattles and chugs in a rhythmic mechanical breath. I hate the sound but god, I love the cool.
Tomorrow we might go to the river. I am way overdue for a baptism.
Happy Friday, y'all.