Logical Progressions

"The problems in logic," my college freshman son writes at 1:15 last night, "are tricky, but once you figure them out, they're easy to do and almost impossible to get wrong. They're just logically correct and require a lot of thinking."

So it must be. So this is another lesson from my son, who has been teaching me courage and integrity since the day he was born and now teaches me logic, tolerance, new media, ambition. Nothing is black or white for him, as it should not be. Everything is to be considered, weighed, tested, found out for himself. Grasped and held onto as his own.

I haven't started a new writing project since he left for college; I only now begin to feel that someday (not today, not tomorrow, not this month, only someday) I might write again. I might write because, even though he is not here in this house or down the street at the theater or around the bend at the high school where his guidance counselor sometimes referred to him as the mayor, he's still this force that lights a path for me, that settles me at dawn with an email sent late in the night from a small room on a crowded floor where so many of his new friends live.

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Romance

The fifty-degree chill, the blue skies. The afternoon left open by work that finished itself sooner than planned. We took a drive along almost empty roads, increasingly horse-drawn-carriage roads. Bill had his camera. I had mine. No one bothered us.

There was one man on horseback high on a wavering hill.

There was a stubby-legged horse in a pasture of cows.

There were glints of unpicked corn in a dried-out patch.

There were pumpkins and two boys playing baseball.

There was this line of laundry hung out to dry.

I have not written any literary thing but this blog for too long now. Too much work in my head, a congestion. Today felt like the beginning of breathing. The remembering of seeing. A particle of romance.

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