Didn't ever finish The Log from the Sea or Cortez (but I will, one day).
I wandered down a mainly bifurcated literary path in the past year and a half - scientific journal articles most of you would fine obscure and boring; and poetry, something I have always enjoyed, and read bits of here and there. Early in the morning sitting at the kitchen table is a fertile time, before the sunlight comes fully into being and prompts me to realize I must be getting on with the day's activities. And sometimes in the bathroom, during prolonged stays. I have no time or energy to read novels anymore, but I can still read poetry and glean those most precious of tiny, shining literary kernels, those that we store up inside for a day when they unexpectedly resurface again.
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