Monday, September 24

Trying to write again, it’s like trying to start an engine you’ve left alone for entire seasons. The battery’s not completely dead, and even that much is kind of astonishing, but it won’t quite turn over. You feel like maybe there’s water in the tank and it wouldn’t surprise you to find packrats nesting somewhere in under the hood.

(Is the engine in this metaphor even under a hood? Maybe it’s just an old rusty push mower, the starter cord all rotten and ready to break.)