I got up early, and went into the barn, as I know the sun comes up and pours itself right into the big barn window. I took a handful of chicken meal and tossed it on the ground, and then got down on the floor, and was rewarded by a sudden burst of light. The hens were transformed into something other than simple chickens. They were radiant and powerful and mystical. I have always wanted to be a writer, and am grateful than I am one. I was reading through a book of Walker Evans photographs and I did feel a bit of stir, wondering if I could possibly take a year off of writing and travel the country taking photos as he did.

We love the same kinds of photographs. There is beauty and originality in anything, truly.

It seems impossible to me to do something like that – is this familiar? Yet I know it could be done If I really want to do it. I like the idea of blogging around the country, but I’m not going without Maria and the dogs, so it seems unlikely. Maybe a month?