My high Sierra refuge isn’t as wild as it used to be, but it’s still remote and peaceful enough for a couple of weeks of vacation. So that’s where I’m headed tomorrow. Aside from the car, a fly rod is about as high tech as I plan to get, and that’s pushing it, because I’m a poor fisherman. I don’t so much fish as stumble around and poke myself with the hook.
This is really all a way of saying, “I’m going to go sit by the river. See you in August.”
While I’m bringing along a stack of books, I’m not bringing anything academic to read. It will all still be here when I get back, as will the credit cards, the junk mail, and Tucson’s muggy summer heat.
I’m so outta here.