[crunch crunch crunch crunch footsteps]
- “January somethingth, cold. Really, really cold, and windy, big watercolor skies, but…
“That’s what I kept thinking -- big watercolor skies…(God, my hands are getting cold, holding this tape recorder.) But it’s peaceful, I needed to come, I had to come, I…
So I’m out at Konza. Obviously. There’s nowhere else to go.
“(Crows in a field, just staring at me, lifting from the trees.) And it’s incredibly quiet. And lonely.”
“Grey. Brown. And the grass is sort of waving. (Just crossed the bridge.)
“It’s a little weird to be saying things out loud. And wrapped through a couple of layers of scarf. (My glasses are fogging up too.) But I guess I have this continual monolog running through my head anyway. To articulate it is sort of odd – the words are just tumbling out. But that’s why I walk – because it’s a time to just let the ideas tumble out.
(“Fence poles, barbed wire wrapping around. I wonder how old those are?”)