Conversations With Myself (If Only You Could Hear Them!)

Recently I was taking a break along the trail in Pedernales Falls State Park when this guy went by at a fairly good clip.

There was no one with him and he never saw me, and yet as he quick-timed by, probably racking up his daily 10,000, he was talking up a storm from earshot to earshot.

But that’s OK. I get where he’s coming from because when hiking I also ‘get into the zone’. Only, as is my nature, I keep the conversations inside my head.

And what conversations they are! Under the impetus of foot-born passage through nature I write blog-posts worthy of comparison to Kerouac and Keralt. Posts that not only shine a precise and edifying light on little bits of America, but also show incredible insight into the human condition.

 

But alas, (Such a literary word that – Alas –) by the time I get to the keyboard all that’s left of my brilliant monologues are scraps. Scraps that, no matter how I put them together, don’t make a damn lick-a sense. . .