Tempus Fugit

It is a terrible thing to realize that the journal you spent two months transcribing, eight years ago, is in a format so old it is not supported by current technology.

Today I drove away from the city, east to an area I discovered during this past week’s hellish Wednesday. With the anxiety out of the way I took time to enjoy the surroundings. As you approach Lowell on Thornapple River Road you have the edge of the Thornapple River flood plain on your right, and the river itself on your left with an old railroad track running parallel to the road. The sun was brilliant, the air clear and cold. I found a park a few miles south of Lowell and took pictures, mostly of the river. I didn’t stray too far for the deer hunters were making their presence known all up and down the opposite bank. And judging by the crippled duck I scared from a fallen tree, they were being none too discriminating with their targets. To a certain mindset, a large bald man in a black trench-coat looks a lot like a deer. That same mindset would probably think an ’89 Buick looks a lot like a deer.

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