Another thing I don't know is why I have written an entire paragraph about crane flies. (And here I am starting off a second paragraph by writing still more about them!) There is so much more stuff in my head that I could be writing about, but none of it is clear enough to focus my attention. The bugs with translucent wings and spindly legs have more presence in my mind than countless things that are undoubtedly of greater importance. I wish I could open a screen in my head and let those ideas fly out, but it looks as though they are even dumber than the crane flies, or my brain less well designed than a window.
My favorite month has arrived, and here I am with no idea what to do with it. Not that I'm at liberty to do all that much, in any case, but I always feel that I ought to do something this time of year. I need a project of some sort that is within my means, and can be fitted into those odd moments I can claim as my own. Each May brings this desire, and this year the desire is all the stronger for the fact that the hand basket containing the world appears to be plummeting Hellward with astonishing rapidity. Watching the thickening leaves dapple the spiky lawn with afternoon shadows and seeing the waxing moon flood each increasingly balmy night with brighter light is all very nice, but I feel the need to participate somehow in all this burgeoning growth. I will, of course, write something, if my thinking process clears up sufficiently for me to focus my attention. But I find that each year I grow more dissatisfied with my lack of some larger goal. In short, I want that screen to be opened. If it happens, I just hope that I have the wit to find my way out.
Oh, yeah: Happy May Day -- and may the best long shot win.
