Wednesday, March 27, 2002

I have spent my day like unearned pocket money. Alone, I bounced from wall to wall in my home of fifteen years, lusting after other places I could be, things I could be doing there, people I could be doing them with. I spent my day waiting. Waiting for an opporunity to get out. See something I had never seen before. Discover--to make the day worth living. At last I decided to grasp the remains of the day on a run in Rock Creek. Five steps out the door, I began to realize my idiocy. How vain of me to consume my hours lusting after sights inaccessible to my eyes. The same ludicrous endeavor as striving to live in moments already past or yet to come.
Chained to a chair, I could fixate on a single spot and make new discoveries for all eternity. Likewise I could travel across continents from dusk until dawn for the rest of my existence and see nothing. One may take broad steps accross a room--cover, suppposedly, its whole expanse quickly and carelessly.
Anothier might in their second step halve their first,
and in their third step halve their second,
and in their fourth step halve their third.
and never reach the doorway.
Who makes more progress?

Discovery lies in the skill of the eye, not solely in the object of its gaze.
In the shrinking woods of Rock Creek, I follow a well-tread path between clouds of buttercupped clovers. An enormous gray-white creature--I'll guess at it a heron--joins me for part of my journey. With wind rushing past my cheeks, I close my eyes and take to the air. My feet feel impact still, but I no longer touch ground.