In lieu of you and chickens

I would have been happy to rise early with you and to feed and water the chickens while you are in the shower. But there are no chickens here. There is no shower with you below making ready for your day. Somehow the scene broadcasts your quiet determination, productive and efficient. 

But that scene is in my head and not in my house. I sleep more. I let the morning slip past while dreaming of traveling and feeling uneasy. 

Finally, I sit up and read the last remaining chapters in a book about a German on a pilgrimage. So many of the cultural references are European, of course, and go over my head. I've traveled little there and that little was many years ago. I speak only one language. 

But what I do have is the willingness to get lost.

This is the second such book I've read lately. The first was by a Canadian making the same holy walk. He annoyed me too. 

Walk alone, I tell myself and then wonder what the book I'd write after would read like without the drama of human interaction. First I've got to write it. First I've got to get there and walk. First I've got to get up and out of this bed.