My book is now available in Kindle format. I don’t own a Kindle, but am certainly not opposed to the technology. And seeing that so many people read digital books . . . the writing is on the wall.
Well, the writing is actually now on a portable LCD screen.
I’m not in Florida presently. No palm trees here. Instead, there are lots of ravines with cold brooks and streams running through them. In the floodplains by the river there are acres upon acres of tall corn.
Tomorrow I go hiking. Up a ridge. Haven’t done that in years. The highest elevation in Florida is 345 feet. Here you climb and dip more than that just to make a run to the local convenience store.
As your location on the planet and the geography changes, so too does the weather, the flora, and the fauna. Which I find fascinating.
While listening to a podcast last night, I think it was the most recent Skeptics’ Guide to the Universe, I re-learned a fact that, upon each hearing, nearly blows my mind.
Do you know how many Earths, our home planet, could “fit” inside the Sun — our home star? Well, depending on whether you mean “whole, undivided Earths” or not, the answer seems to be either on the near side of ONE MILLION or the far. That’s million.
And how big is the Earth, relative to me? Well, I’m just shy of 6 feet tall. If you were to stack clones of me, you would need nearly 7 million Andrews to equal the diameter of Earth.
Man, I feel small now!
[photo source]
That title doesn’t make any sense. Or does it? What the heck could a “hibiscus state of mind” be? Is it kinda profound, or super profound? One or the other, take your pick.
Sunday. Hot. Not getting much done. Not inclined to, either.
Maybe thanks to the heat I’m in more of a dog-day state of heart.
Or maybe I just like the photo and can’t think of anything else to write.
Who knows?
‘Ya think?
Without something to get attached to, we drift. From this to that to who knows what’s next. And while being adrift can be a nice change of pace, having a home base, a point zero from which your personal coordinates extend outward and lead you back, is good for one’s mental health. Knowing what to expect is a comforting thing. We can relax, turn our attention away from a constantly changing environment to personal tasks and projects.
My wife and my week of “research” is over. Wasn’t ready to leave. But now that we’ve left the smaller island and landed on a bigger, I’m ready to go home. I feel refreshed, eager to venture to a different depth, to move not through physical space, but other spaces — social, emotional, intellectual . . . .
[gray angelfish]
Man, I wish I could get a fat grant to do the type of “research” I am currently doing. Some might call it a “vacation,” but I don’t think you can get federal money for that.
Maybe I could describe the research as my wife and my taking inventory of the current species of fish along in the x area of the y reef in the Caribbean. Tally so far: 54 species. Not bad. Not great. Of course, we aren’t professionals, but experienced amateurs. And frankly, it ain’t easy. For those of you unfamiliar with reef fish, many have juvenile forms and colorations completely different from the adult/terminal phases. And then there are all those tiny fish and the fish that outright bolt at first sight of you . . . . Nonetheless, a very satisfying pursuit.
[the coral brains of the reef]
[An inter-species convention.]
