Here is tree number seven.
In the morning, Arthur and I drove to Astoria. That’s because he had a heater getting repaired up there, and apparently there was no place closer that would make the repair.
It’s about two hours up to Astoria. It was raining in a nice, pacificnorthwesty way, the whole time. It makes me nostalgic for my childhood, of course.
On the way back, we stopped at a restaurant-cum-logging-museum called Camp 18. We had a late breakfast. There are a lot of old pieces of machinery around there, as used in 19th century logging operations. This is a steam donkey – used for winching large loads up hills.
[daily log: walking, 1km; driving, 200km]
Day: January 9, 2019
Caveat: Poem #892 “The default mode of textual production”
ㅁ prose becomes difficult so poetry becomes the default manner of expression engendering ideas and capturing the images that a glance outside will give to me
– a reverse nonnet.
