Home for the weekend. I just finished walking the dogs, and though I hate getting started with them, finishing and coming home is always a pleasure. Walking feels good. Like I've breathed and sweat out some of the nonsense and the dross. Not to mention that they are precious animals: tongues out, tails wagging, noses in the grass. I love the hell out of some dogs. It's too bad I don't have one in Hattiesburg. Yet.

School has been really good. There's plenty of work, some of which I'm not sure how I've finished in time, but it always gets done. I'm somewhat on top of things, and enjoying myself. I need to go exploring, riding my bike on the trails, or going for a walk and seeing where it takes me. The workshop is great. My fiction was on trial last Wednesday, and things couldn't have been better. There's plenty to fix in my work, plenty I can do better on, and many ways in which I need to be challenged. There are things I need to think through, scenarios to weigh and consider. But I'm telling a story, putting it in front of people I care about, listening to their criticism, reaching around in the dark, and putting my fingers on my voice. There's a lot of voice to grasp. I'll need a whole lot of patience and a good deal of time. Praise God.

Home is sweeter for the distance. There's my cat, Leon, riding in his carrier in my passenger seat. Danielsen plays on the stereo, and white trash goodness every couple of miles. My friends here are all growing and changing, unfurling like a flower in the spring.

The river is everywhere.