I hardly text or email. If I’m on the phone twice in a day, that’s a lot anymore for me. I’m listening, reading, pecking away at the book...but I’m not driving an agenda, or selling anything.
I think. I’ve got the time to do it. I fill the bird feeder. I cook. I sweep the fake wood floors of the double wide. Breadcrumbs won’t work. A trail is a trail.
I learned to read tracks and how to trail as a boy. I was always an observer more than a participant in cultural activities. I was happier on the river or in the estuary than I ever was in school or church activities.
I saw where humans went of course...as individuals and in mass. The mistakes seemed obvious. The root of cultural problems was much harder to track down. I searched and searched. I wanted to help, to be of service. I used the skill set I had acquired in the estuary. I observed, I trailed...I studied the evidence.
I went to college...for decades part time. I worked. I never stopped thinking, tracking down answers or following trails. At some point I realized happiness was in another direction, but kept pushing on.
After some long, hard years I turned around, and went back to the river. I left tracks, and then I disappeared.