Good riding; HorseBack work, where I listened in awe and fascination to one of the most interesting men I know; 2257 words of book.
The sun shone for a while, with all the conviction of summer, and then the day reverted to a sulky, sullen state, with the winter chill still in it, and the world looked brown and low. But I got a lot done and had interesting talk and thought many thoughts.
And that was all, really. It was an ordinary, good, productive day. It had no banner headline; it was mine and it was fine.
Out in the world, there were bombs and horrors. The news filtered through into my ordinary day, feeling distant and unreal. In the social media, everyone had something to say about it. I don’t know what to say when the horrors come. I feel that words, the words I love so much and in which I have so much faith, falter and fail in the face of hatred and nihilism. What can one say? I go doggedly on with my ordinary day, as if good humans and good horses and these good hills and trees can anchor me to another reality, a sane, kind reality, where people do not blow each other up in the name of God.