Bucky would have fit in just fine in my expository writing classes in college. We had a two week project in one of them during which we were each given a plant and had to daily chronicle our thoughts and feelings on the thing as it died. I really hated that weed by the end of that particular assignment.
The last couple of weeks I have felt too glutted with thoughts and feelings to be able to write about it. I've been reading some incredible thoughts and journeys in the blogosphere the last couple of weeks, and the conversations have been galloping along ahead of me while I'm still wrestling with entry one. The nature of the church. Coffee. Denominationalism. Individuality. Our feminimity and masculinity. Grief. Maps. Characters and writing. More coffee. Sometimes a little reminder not to take our own writing and ideas too seriously is a good thing. And the gentle assurance that God holds us in the palm of his hand and that all of those ideas, words, creative impulses, etc. are one of the ways that we reflect the image of Creator God, and that even in those times when we escape ourselves, we do not escape him.