The flight westward offers a unique panoramic view of the oil patch — the hardened earth, the sand swept hills, and once the plane gets out over the oil and gas fields of west Texas proper, it looks like some sort of under developed subdivision, the streets are laid out, and there’s a little circle where a well is, ever so often, but there’s still nothing out there. Strange, too, it’s a clear day when I feel like I can see for forever.
I had the best of intentions to get a lot done yesterday. There was much to do, but the best of intentions some how got waylaid by the incredible weather and a lot of West Texas in the air. As I passed a sleek, black sports car which had been sitting in a nearby parking lot, I noticed a thin film of heavy dust and pollen on it. Which accounts for the sneezing, sniffling, and weird pressure in my head. Maybe AZ will give me a chance to to get my sinuses cleared. I did “do a meeting” with a Virgo and her big red truck as we traipsed all over town. Of course, she spurned my every offer; however, she did get me set up with some delightful “trash” reading for the trip. “Oh, you’ll like this author — it’s Anne Richard’s (former governor) favorite.” Takes a Virgo to know a Virgo, I always say.
I had also planned on catching Three Penny Opera and Soul Hat at Steamboat last night, but one thing lead to another, and I missed my connection. “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings” (Cassius in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar).
