When I can't see the next green light, I go anyway. Usually, I cannot see the next street name sign either. I still go. Travel goes like that. But I don't fear the travel going forward into the unknown, though it's barely a block.

Watch me do this trick. Before the light turns green, I have already committed going through without slowing down to stop. The gas is on. Will the light change in time? Or will I violate the traffic as I roll through?

My living arrangement, where I will live next month, is the traffic light. I'm not sure if it's turning green in time or not. My wheels are approaching. The red light switches.

I'm not going anywhere permanently for a while. Transient fellow I am. That's my sense. Really, my living circumstances right now. But that's okay. In the meantime, I'm here at a cabin on a lake. Pen and paper. Internet.

Amenities. Quiet. A writing schedule, a game plan as good as any light switch.

Despite the respite, until a place to reside appears, until the lights turn green, I'm in third gear.

I merely go forward. 

July 12, 2026  4:03 PM

PS. Tired I used to drive. My wife would say, I'm sleeping. Not huh. The energy I have, the excitement I carry, it's all exploding inside this pen.

PSS. I happen to be reading currently a book entitled "Greenlights." By Matthew McConaughey. Non-effacing. Coincidental. It's a worthy read. 
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