By now the absurd has become normal, the struggle has become routine, and mustering inspiration to write is not an act of touristic awe. Time is in full swing, rounding a gentle curve like the pendulum falling through the bottom of its arc.
Friday is a half a day of work for me. I went out to pull weeds today as I have on other Fridays, but today was exceptional because Hans brought the tractor. Orange trees are docile and wide, like well fed kings. The weeds that surround them and gnaw and pry and twist their tendrils around the bark of orange trees are densely clustered, growing at tight angles shrouded in darkness, choking one another for a view of sunlight. They cling to trees, they cling to each other, and they cling to the hands that pull them, like relentless famished beggars. But they will never learn not to cling to tractor tires or the machete blade. Tonight I met Jimbo the quietly spiritual neighborhood icon. He is polite and earthly, and I hope to see him again.
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Adventures of 2010
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