07 November 2007
Since the finger of the most divine Creator touched this planet, and set forth the human machine, there has been one among them who was celebrated for his great heroism, handsome features, and chisled physique. Every generation or so throughout the ages this figure has returned to prominence among mankind. This week we have the choice opportunity of gazing upon the inspiring stoicism and comforting mustache of this Union General. Though the name of General Burnside is more often retold in today's history books, it is seldom heard that Gen. Burnside's rise to relative prominence was largley due to his copying of this Blake's distinct facial grooming. Civil War Blake, you are forgotten no more.
03 November 2007
The lightly butter sky melts through the mashed potato clouds and down upon the rocky sentinels guarding the Cache Valley. Though the source of that western golden glow is silently skulking into the evening, hidden from view by the Wellsville Mountains, I know that it has direction and purpose. The sun is not some drunken hobo hoping from train to train, but a confident and proud citizen of this universe. Its role and duty made sure through divine appointment. As that solar sphere decends downwardly dooming the day, I can't help but to ponder my own direction. What would it be like to be so confident and content in your duties, satisfied in in where i'm going and why.
I have now been in Logan long enough to see nearly 500 sunsets. I make maps. Maps are useful for locating places, and how far they are from where you are. The irony of a lost map maker is not wasted on me. I don't know where I'm going and don't know how to get there but I know that there is not here. Not even a map maker can make a map to a place nobody knows.
And so here I am, pointed west, squinting into the future.