Classics

Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife. 

I stay up past my bedtimes, and nap in the afternoons. Everything is upside down, everything is silence. A change rests on the horizon, like a storm front still trying to make up its mind. You are like cracked earth desperate for rain. The typewriter beckons you like an old friend, like a limb you had somehow separated from, you wonder how you got by so long without it. You begin to create mental packing lists: bring all of the paper, the books from this shelf, bring these notebooks, these dumbbells, a coffee cup that might bring you just the right type of juju for the next Great American novel. 

Google fire lookout jobs. 

Whatever comes next - and you do not know yet what does - it feels like opportunity. It feels like being guided by curiosity, not fear, feels like a chance to rediscover parts of yourself that entirely fell away in the depths of the Darkness, it feels like hope.

After years of cracked earth,
the time has come to learn
again
how to grow.