Wednesday, March 4, 2009
The Mississippi, St. Francisville, LA
Crossing the track of my kayak trip...
Can't describe all this very well- the frozen fingers, the bad coffee, and buttery grits, the thousand miles of rural South, sleeping in a damp bag- or why it is all so good.
Mostly, it is an emptying of mind. And if I try to describe it, the description begins to supplant the experience.