When I was four years old, my family took a short holiday to a lodge somewhere up in the Adirondacks. The woods surrounding the lodge were home to these very fuzzy, bright green and yellow caterpillars. It drove my dad a little crazy that, with all there was too do at this idyllic place, the only thing that interested me was collecting caterpillars and watching them go about their lives. I remember having a dozen or so of them in the concave side of a Frisbee, where I also placed a bunch of fresh leaves and grass. My parents thought I was a strange kid, but I was fascinated by this little world I'd created, and how its inhabitants interacted with one another. I was really upset when the long weekend was over and it was time to drive back to the city, and my parents told me I'd have to set my little subjects free. I did not yet know that writing was a thing to be done, and that creating worlds on paper was much more practical and humane than playing God with a bunch of little creatures who just wanted to be left to their own business.
Lately, I feel as if I’m adrift at sea with dry land nowhere in sight. This vast expanse of ocean on which I find myself drifting; it’s crystal clear. So clear that I can peer over the side of my raft and see all the way down to the bottom of the sea, where fish move gracefully in and out of a coral reef. The other side of the water line makes for a nice change of scenery. It takes my mind off the inevitable sunburn that being adrift without shelter results in. Oars or a sail would be good, just about now. I believe hurricane season is on the horizon.