I am sitting comfortably on a wire chair with my feet up, on this beautiful morning, the fifteenth of August. It's surprisingly cool, the morning, not the chair. A few puffy clouds are in the sky. I am not sure what I will do with the remainder of my life. Will I get married? Will I have children? Will I have a home in the woods? From where I am sitting on this porch, I can see a portable toilet. It's so blue. I has a white roof. It is parked in front of a one-car garage. It has a little black chimney. There is a tall, old oak tree behind it, but I cannot tell you which specie of oak it is. Is it a pin oak? A white oak? I don’t know my oaks. I don’t know my pines either. Donald Rumsfeld once said that there are known knowns, known unknowns, and unknown unknowns. I wonder what the unknown unknowns of my life are. It’s possible that I will become enthralled by a hat this afternoon. It’s possible that this will be another ordinary day, one that I will not remember.
Jacob wrote to me the other day and told me that he wished he could have a collection of my essays, in book form, to have and to hold, a real book made of paper. I would love that. I have dreamed about that for a long time. But will that book happen? Is there a publisher out there who would want to publish a collection of lyrical essays about botany and the life of the self? I have no idea. I hardly know how I will spend the remainder of the morning. This is only a note to say hello to the world. Hello world whose trees I cannot identify on this surprisingly cool morning. Hello portable toilet. Hello vacuum cleaner sounds arising from the hospital. My next objective is to make some toast and spread a bunch of peanut butter onto it. Beyond that peanut butter toast, I have no idea. I hope I do become enthralled by a hat, and I hope the hat is huge.