. Spinning .

I have now spent more time and cost in printing out laptop specs than for anything I’ve ever purchased before.

I have mainly stuck with four brands, two processors, a minimum ram memory, O/S, screen width, graphics card, DVD/CD RW burner, 19mm between keys, and 60 mg hard drive, and I’ve still got about a dozen possibilities.  Oh for the good old days of a Ford or a Chevy.  Or maybe not.

I used to build my pc’s, so it wasn’t that difficult to get exactly what I wanted.  This has to be about a year or more in advance of what I need, and the model has to be capable of having guts comprised of certain specifications.  T’ain’t easy.

Normally I’m an impulsive shopper.  But that’s only when something’s sitting in front of me all decked out and on sale.  When I need to think about a purchase, it’s a painfully slow process. 

Here’s hoping the decision is made by this weekend or sooner.

There was a deep suspicion of what the notices would say; a big red flyer tacked to the tree across the street.  But I put off finding reason to go read it, knowing that at least with no photo showing it was not a missing child or something else that should break somebody’s heart.

At last I wandered over, after picking up my mail and read the bold black words that government could only print.  An order of execution, the prisoner wearing it around his neck as if a scarlet letter, damned to more finality, damned to sawdust within five days.

This stately maple in my neighbor’s yard is one of two left standing, when it’s wayward brothers have since been severed from the earth.  Six or seven, maybe more in all, taking up a growing space over time in a hundred years or more, now gone and leaving empty space behind. 

When we moved in over fourteen years ago, we were embarrassed by the size of our little five all in a row.  Now they tower, lift up in pride, no longer the new kids on the block, but then again, nor are we.

Odd, following a list to prove I’m organized.  More, I think, to get things done.  The mind, when left to its own devices, tends to watch the movies that it loves the best and so a map proves at the very least, intention.

But picking up a text on Algebra, to merely look up and confirm a single thought, the lure is there and numbers call with voices that are graphite in response and tempt me with their neatness and decision.  Not now, I say, I’m anxious to move onward; a path I’ve marked out with keyframes of song and words and images drawn by hand from lines that twist and move into a form I can’t deny.

There is a story to the numbers, true enough.  But the ending always must come out the same.  Ah, but the story that revolves in circles, angles, rods and cones, is moving toward an end that has no end, and in that alone is more inviting.

The book is shut but left for but another day.

The day is led off by a letter to the dean, to seek assistance in remaining on the path I’ve picked for now, to beg for tolerant consideration of a student’s indecisive wandering ways.

Then on to folding laundry, paling pink from one red placemat that gave its all to share its color with its friends; unfortunately, J’s tees and jockeys.  Why is it that this color, so loose with morals and hiding in the pile, then clings so steadfastly to its new homes?

Numbers, numbers, numbers for another quiz and project.  But these numbers are dependable and aim to cleave themselves to brain cells in my head.

Then, at last, the creativity that balled up deep and sleeping can be nudged, awakened, and alive.

Snow may be a blanket, one that covers a sleeping earth.

But the early snow lays a rug upon an earth still in the midst of autumn.  It covers the dust of leaves that lay littering the floor, hangs fresh curtains from the trees, lays a tablecloth on every roof and white runners on the sidewalks.

The audio is silent for the opening of morning–no birdsong background twittering to distract.  But then a rumble rises in crescendo of a sound to build and emphasize the conflict of a change.  Then as it fades away again into another quiet scene, it’s surely changed the story and the roads are black once more.

Layers of new media are starkly seen in nature at times like this.