Today is my last day as a writer in residence in Nebraska City. I don’t want to go I love it here.
I love getting up early to write. My favorite hours are the quiet ones when the light changes from grey to white. I’ve learned that at 7:40 every morning the school bus comes to pick up the local kids; I can see it outside my window.
Between 11am and 4pm I can hardly work. I can’t explain this, but I don’t think I’m the only person—who can’t seem to get anything done after lunch.
Later I am redeemed: the evening. Does it have something to do with the light in the sky—this early morning/late evening routine? Does it have to do with the quiet? Maybe it’s primal—the urge to rest in the afternoon; the temptation of a bed in the sun.
I like to watch my mind work even while it is not working. An idea comes during a walk, in a dream. I like to watch myself work, but not so hard. I like to see how I can not hurt over it. I like that the church bells chime on the hour and the train roars through at midday. I like walking away knowing that soon I will miss it and I will be in a rush to get back.