Its January fourth. What now?
Watching the birds flutter and frolic from the other side of the window, observing the continuous traffic of hungry beaks as they energetically employ their daily emptying of the sunflower seeds and cracked corn from the feeder, that is the question.
In the Lord’s year 2021, in the throws of a pandemic that has crippled the economy and brought us socially to our knees and six feet apart, what is next for an aging newspaperman recovering from an industry that time seems to have chewed up and spat out?
Somewhere inside this computer there is a collection of short stories about three tales shy of publication, an incomplete non-fiction manifesto pondering on life-after-stroke, and even the start of a post-apocalyptic novel…yet today my want for words seems to be lamenting on a loss of journalism.
Is there opportunity in attempting to ride the rails of nostalgia and revive a print product? Or is the only hope for the written word here within the walls of the world-wide-web? Perhaps there is a common ground, a sweet spot hidden somewhere between social media and journalism, where some form of a bastardized blog can double as an outlet for breaking headlines?
As the calendar turns the page to yet another unmapped journey, the birds outside my window survive on suet and seed.
Today, my life’s walk is fueled by food for thought.