I haven’t posted for several days now. It’s not that I haven’t written anything to post. It’s that what little I’ve allowed myself to write has been dark and nervous, as if written by a ground squirrel stuck in a shallow hole, eyes on the sole exit, where a band of malnourished coyotes patiently awaits the opportunity to rip the beast to pieces and greedily lap up its blood.
I wonder, would that squirrel eventually make a run for it? Or would he simply wither and die of thirst and starvation, too afraid to try to escape the inevitable? If the latter, the coyotes might starve to death, perhaps a fitting exchange for the terrified squirrel’s life.
What, I wonder, has pushed me into this hole? Whatever it is, I guess I’d better try to make a run for it.
