Reading, Writing, and Other Stuff . . .

The reading and reading of stories and stories again and again over the multiple years has affected me and still affects me in a two-fold way, attracting me to the positive pole of inspired emulation to bask in sheer admiration and utter awe of such artful word conjunctions, while simultaneously repelling me from the negative pole of fearful failure where the unlettered lout is rightly left to quake alone in quotidian darkness at night enclosed in a shroud of lightless fright.

Considering, for example:

Here is a short excerpt taken from Going After Cacciato by Tim O'Brien:

So Paul Berlin winged it. Flat out through the Anatolian flatlands and down the townless, lightless country toward the sea, hell-bent for water, knowing now the full meaning of desperado.

Clear, direct, incomparable artistry.

And that's all I have to say about that.

. . .

Yesterday was Sunday, a day of rest, so I sent myself out for a relaxing walk along a sand-packed rocky desert path with my camera to seek out some substance in nature's abundance of such.

Below are samples of what I saw along the way:

(Click each picture to see a larger view)

There are more, but . . .