<small>Stop and use this page as a prompt if you wish, or continue on from here. Or you could [[a mind to meander|go back to where the river begins]].</small> ---- I’m not ready because I’m still hibernating. I’m supposed to be [[emerging from the cave]] now but I’m just—not ready. What is it that’s going to roust me out? Because it’s always something (until it isn’t, a quiet voice in the back of the cave says, and then it hits me—that’s it!) That’s what it’s going to be this time—the lurking fear that [[one of these times is going to be the last time]]. And I’m like OK, fine, I’m getting up, I’m still here, spring, thaw, running water, crystalline waterfalls underneath the ice in the creek, tromping through the creek bed with my daughter, looking for wildlife, tree roots, ice sculptures, sunlight, anything glowing, fascinating, ordinary, magical, sublime. Same river twice—yeah, you know that whole thing? This is that. You can’t [[go back to the same little apartment]] and the same notched and scarred old table by the same window in the same little neighborhood and write the same stuff, ever again. It never repeats exactly. I mean when you think about it, why would you want it to? You already wrote all that stuff. You need to write something new if you’re going to emerge from the cave again and wake up and blink in the sun and [[start looking for honey]]. > – npydyuan