The plumber's machine chug-chug-chugs as seventy-five feet of wire travel underground. The faucet runs and runs, and the plumber says to my father, Even in this time of water shortage, you need to flush the toilet every time. Let the women know that.

A season of drought, a season of crisp lawns, a season of watching the hills for signs of brush fire. And a season of wandering for me.

I haven't written much since February, maybe 30 pages, various papers and responses, nothing that feels like me. What keeps me from writing? Fear? Sorrow? Inattention to details? All of the above. I have notes, though. Snippets here and there, in notebooks, stickies, the backs of receipts. Expand them. Work through the pap, for the blood and bone. And through it, the sorrow will keen less, wither and die.

So we'll heed Susan Sontag today: "Do stuff. Be clenched, curious. Not waiting for inspiration's shove or society's kiss on your forehead. Pay attention. It's all about paying attention. Attention is vitality. It connects you with others. It makes you eager. Stay eager."

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