Antsy for a dose of McCarthy; know it will rejuvenate me just as Willie and Waylon have sent the blood racing and the imagination bouncing off the convolutions of my brain. Don’t know why I’d shut them out so long; it was the quiet time I thought I needed but it wasn’t true. I need to fill my mind with more than words and reading words and writing what I read. Need the auditory channels filled as well with sounds of life and love and gain and loss and tragedy and triumph.
And from the pages, from the work of mats and wooden frames, from the dishes and the laundry and the evil-hearted and the worry, I need to lift my eyes and look up at the trees.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology