I'm working through some ideas of connection and disconnection in this birding piece. And I've no doubt that all this MFA business is part of the reason I am hung up on connections--writers work so much in solitary confinement, either actually imposed or metaphysically constructed, it's no wonder we cling to each other (as though clinging might save us*).
Birders, like knitters and writers, most often commune one-on-one with the objects of their affections. Banding together on occasion breaks up the loneliness, but can also reduces their productivity... Sorry, I just put myself to sleep for a minute. We know these things. Who cares? What does all this have to do with my grandmother? And Roger Tory Peterson? What does this essay want to be about?
Anyway. It was a crummy week. It looks like one of the two Wyoming candidates may take her slot--I think it's the other one that needs to give it up, but still that on top of the CNF thing was tough. And yet, and yet, I can't help but be relieved if she does. As another writer friend so astutely pointed out, I want Wyoming for dessert.
*apologies and gratitude to Galway Kinnell