The structure of my life is centered
on making things weather it making pots
or the bed, the garden or a batch of clay, the disparate activates are sewn together
like a quilt. The pattern of dog walks, weeding, throwing, photographing or
cooking fit together with uneven lengths.When I walk
with the dog I set out down a mowed path. On the walks I follow where the path leads,I live for the views
where the grass and sky draw a line across the expanse of vision. Today was the
kind of June day when the humidity had been blown away with a night time storm
and every blade of grass had been washed and each view seems incredibly fresh.
"When you write, you lay out a line of words.
The line of words is a miner's pick, a woodcarver's gouge, a surgeon's probe.
You wield it, and it digs a path you follow. Soon you find yourself deep in new
territory. Is it a dead end, or have you located the real subject? You will know tomorrow or this time next year.
You make the path boldly and follow it fearfully. You go where the path leads. "
Annie Dillard The Writing Life
