Michael Thiele is a woodsmith who makes musical instruments and playable furniture. He spends most of his life either in the shop or out on the road buying wood and selling his work at craft shows. In recent years, his travels have begun to inspire his own writing, so he sends me things.
Jan 11, Tallahassee
I woke up this morning staring at the popcorn texture on the drywall ceiling of my room. I do this often. I won’t call it hypnotic or addictive, but I will admit to engaging in it with indefensible frequency. This morning’s scene was that of a guy in a boat. He had a very pronounced forehead (Neanderthalish) and seemed to be fishing for God knows what with a very long carrot. It made no sense. I’ll leave it to the reader on this one.
The point is that the mind wanders to interesting places if one allows it. I choose to leave my mind loose that way. I have never wondered why. The cashier at the Love’s truckstop made the mistake of asking me if I had seen anything interesting today. I told her about the fisherman, leaving out the entire context. The perplexed look on her face was worth the price of admission.
She struggled for words forming at last what looked like the question, “What?” on her lips but sans any audible sound. I simply said, “You asked,” and walked out. I have things to do. Places to go.
Later
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