It has been hard, waiting for things to happen. The BLM recently changed the policy regarding docents at Patos, making it nearly impossible for me to go out this year. Now I will be waiting till July to go out to Stuart. That's fine. I have come to accept it as a part of the process.
The waiting for something to happen has left me apathetic to my writing. Add on top of it, this year I do not have someone to write to. Everything is harder this year. The rain fails to keep away the tourists from strolling out to Indian island and picking the flowers. They keep pouring in while the tide is low enough for them to walk out along the spit. The only faces I recognize anymore are family or the senior friends of my grandmother. If i feel lonely in my home, and even lonlier in Colorado, how can I ever expect to feel a part of something again?
I am still traveling with the cancerous letter that I wrote a month ago. A letter that feels out of place and time, yet I can't bring myself to dispose of it. Something about having it allows me to be visually reminded about my promise. But with no one to write to, I feel lost.
