A wispy fog settled across the land on an early weekday morning. That’s meteorological fog, not the thick delusional stuff that’s settled across much of the nation. The former will eventually burn off; the latter may stay forever. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
A writing man prepared to take his\nmorning walk for fitness, inspiration and clarity. Where would he\nwalk today? He narrowed his many choices down to two: a fresh\nclearcut he recently found by accident or an osprey recently returned\nfrom Mexico to his towering nest he also found by accident. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They were both the same distance. One\nwalk into death, the other into life. One walk into obscene greed and\nwaste. The other into the world of a magical bird that often flew\nwith eels in its talons. What intrigued him more these days? What was\non his mind? What did he prefer to write about? What did he write\nbest about?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He began his walk. The walk to life or\ndeath took the same route for about a mile until that fork came in\nthe road and he would have to make his choice. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Walking in fog always excited the man.\nIt made him feel like he was in a noir movie, which he sort of was at\nthe moment. The whole country was, but it wasn’t filmed in black and\nwhite. It was filmed in the garish colors of ignorance and stupidity.\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He passed empty bottles of Bombay gin,\ndented cans of energy drinks, cracked vaping pens, and topless tins\nof Viennese sausage. What they meant in combination for the state of\nthe union was impossible for the writer to ascertain, so he didn’t\neven try. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
While he walked, he worked on the\nlyrics of a new country song called \u201cGoing to Winston.\u201d It was a\ndumb little ditty about a construction worker who took his bonus,\nbought some booze, and drove to a town called Winston to get laid. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It didn’t work out for him. If it had,\nthere wouldn’t be a country song. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The writer reached the fork. He\nstopped. He drank some water. The fog was lifting. There was a chance\nto osprey wouldn’t be at the nest. She might be fishing in the river.\nThere was no chance the clearcut wouldn’t be there. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Life dammit!<\/em> The writer\nproclaimed. He knew seeing the osprey was where he was in life these\ndays. He was done with the metaphors offered up by the rapine of\nclearcuts. He wanted the reality of birds and the marvels they\ninduced in him. They took him higher. Clearcuts only made him look\ninto the abyss. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n He took the fork to the left and headed\nfor the osprey. He didn’t even care if the raptor wasn’t there. The\nsite of her massive nest atop a lighting-struck Sitka spruce was more\nthan enough. \n<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A wispy fog settled across the land on an early weekday morning. That’s meteorological fog, not the thick delusional stuff that’s settled across much of the nation. The former will eventually burn off; the latter may stay forever. A writing man prepared to take his morning walk for fitness, inspiration and clarity. Where would he […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":6005,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6004","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-meditations","has-post-title","has-post-date","has-post-category","has-post-tag","has-post-comment","has-post-author",""],"builder_content":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6004","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6004"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6004\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6007,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6004\/revisions\/6007"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6005"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6004"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6004"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6004"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}