It's the twentieth day. I have yet to see an owl and am resigned to making meaning out of that -- that I've never seen an owl.
The writing is going well, although I am stumped on how to wrap things up with the book. I talked for a long time to one of my best writer friends and comrades yesterday, and she had some good advice.
Where are you? she asked, and she wasn't talking about place. I sat in the window seat with a pen and a notebook and tried to answer it, got up and typed a bit and around.
Where are you? is going to lead me to the end, I think.
Here's a poem by Leonard Cohen:
If I had a shining head
and people turned to stare at me
in the streetcars;
and I could stretch my body
through the bright water
and keep abreast of fish and water snakes;
if I could ruin my feathers
in flight before the sun;
do you think that I would remain in this room,
reciting poems to you,
and making outrageous dreams
with the smallest movements of your mouth?