agenda today is monday and I’m still hungry from missing your sunday brunch. it’s my own fault i know, and no, it’s not what you might think. i spent the morning searching for my watch. will you read my letters after all? i hope the postman doesn’t make a face when he drops them in the slot. you know how dreadful i can be at saying much aloud. and if i’m overeager or seem skittish ever, slur my words or act foolish among strangers, eat my soup with my dessert spoon and laugh when nothing’s very funny, truly, it is just bad habits. look now! i’m up and ready to get out of bed. I’ll take a bath, and eat some breakfast. there are cornflakes in the cupboard. i will drink a glass of milk. wear my wingtips, collared shirt. later take a walk down to the harbor, buy a coffee, read my book, and try not to think about the weather, try to hum the fast bit of Appalachian Spring.
and maybe i’m thinking too much of myself, too little of the trawler, anchoring at evening with an empty net. his problem is the deadness of the ocean, not the quiet that comes from a long day’s wait.
The fourth and final issue of Steps for the 2010-2011 academic year.