Thursday, October 17, 2013


I returned to Springfield late Wednesday to a cloud-pocked sky and a chill wind. Four thousand miles in less than three days. Did I find what I was looking for? No, but I did get to breathe in the air of New Mexico on Tuesday morning and give a murmured greeting and best wishes to the east, to the one who sings a song only I can hear. And then I left the train station and moved on to other business, other busyness.

The journey west resulted in a good thing: 12 hours of uninterrupted writing in the middle of an 18-hour trek. Almost 10,000 words that start this way:

"I thought it'd be hotter, you know? Hotter and busier. I mean, I'm assuming this is Hell because that's where they said I was going if I didn't repent. And I never repented. Oh, I said I was sorry about the way things turned out. I apologized to the families for putting them through so much grief. But as far as repenting goes — nope. How am I supposed to repent for something I still think was righteous?"

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