My life has been defined for a while as a fluttering thing, never the same, capricious and precarious. It was confinement of many kinds that made crave variety, the new frontier. Was I afraid of it? Is this special place of mine just a dock from which greater seas are observed, plotted, even traveled across? What could I be waiting for, here in my place.

Of course, as part of my doctrine of life, not all things are to really necessary at one time. I make a modest, likable living here. I may not get out as much as I should, but when I do, I travel for miles on foot, through these beautiful fields and woods of ours. I reach out and feel the feathery energies, nurture the vibes and try to reach understanding before the long trek back to the apartment. (current record: 9 miles. Go for Plano!!)

Yet, so much has passed, much I wish were still here. My friends up north, if they are still there at all.. those who moved away, past long ocean to new shores. There's much that still needs to be done here, but..

To what end and purpose do I travel? Why do I walk, searching myself, the world around me, the Earth and Sky, for purpose? Are the answers so close I can't see? Does my self-reliant claptrap count for much in a world I castigate like so many old fogeys before me? Perhaps, all could start again were I to just decide for once, choose.
The gas prices in town have begun to fall slowly. I wonder what the autumn will hold this year.