My Vagrancy Adventure Part One: In Which the Romance of it All is Still Strong.
All morning we canoed and hiked and built forts and fished, caught frogs, chased snakes and capturing a tadpole with legs. After Grandma and Grandpa arrived, I plunged into the woods to make a campsite and write a screenplay.
When Lynn found her great grandfather's diary, many of the entries read:
Dug Coal. Rained.
I suppose if my world demanded such work in such conditions, I too, may have grown terse.
On the other hand, the artificial imposition of Two Sentences A Day seemed like exactly what's needed to satisfy my yearning to archive the daily flow of life.
To bookmark particular sensations and experience.
To leave a scar that I can return to be assured that I really was alive back then:
My life really did happen.
So for the last year I wrote two sentences a day.
These days I'm re-reading to see whether the archival urge and the reflexive urge together can do anything to heal my soul or shed insight across a tiny sliver of the world...