Sometimes when I write, I actual write – as in using words to express my feelings and/or to capture the spirit of a moment, be it high or low. Lately, I have been reporting . . . more or less. I don’t know if I am feeling shallow or lazy or am choosing to float on the surface of things because this fall and winter have been emotional. Either way I am writing a rut, just as oxen made one as the trod across the prairie. It is boring, but, on the other hand, boring can be soothing. Of course, that is okay if the weather is fair and the breeze soft and warm – “broad, sunlit uplands” as Churchill said. To be truthful, as I think about this, I believe I am forgetting what boredom really feels like. Boredom is not soothing; so maybe I am thinking of daydreaming as I go along in my rut. Or resting . . . resting in the rut.

This is not a lead up to an announcement that I am climbing out of my reporting rut. What happens, happens.