I wrote this Saturday, August 2, in Sackville, NB:

I'm sitting alone on a  park bench in Sackville, New Brunswick. I left the Sappy tent to come visit the swans. When I finish writing this, I will read some more of my book about that wicked witch.

I came here early to see the 6015 Willow doc. But one of my favourite things about Sackville is that water fowl park and the swan-containing pond across the street. I've enjoyed all the music today and will enjoy more later. I'm also enjoying taking time to myself this weekend. Quite different than last weekend (I hope they are still selling burgers when Dog Day gets here and I hope I can borrow money somehow).

I'm trying to understand this feeling (or these feelings) in my chest. No wonder the heart has been elected the organ of love and emotions. I fully understand the feelings swelling between my legs. Throbbing. Tingling. That's very easy to name and very easy to deal with. But this other stuff...Sometimes it comes from seemingly nowhere, in some cases it's something that's been there all the time, and sometimes I find myself surprised to realize it's gone. In all cases, it's actually something different, even if just slightly, and it's always something unnameable.

Most of it is proving nearly impossible to deal with.

"Somehow we are not one."

Last year I was getting ready to play in Sackville, and hoped to get to spend time with the swans.