Old Bear and Theatre

It's Friday night, 7:19. Some of the guys on my floor are playing a game they call "birdcage," which apparently involves throwing (and breaking) a frisbee. I have no plans for tonight because I know hardly anybody here. Right now my closest friend's name is Adam. He's in a band and I've never met him, but we hang out a lot. 

Yesterday I talked to my professor, Dr. Folsom, after my Walt Whitman class. We talked about the forming Creative Writing undergraduate program and I mentioned Flannery O'connor, an amazing writer who graduated from the workshop here. Dr. Folsom went on to tell me where she wrote when she was here and, being the artist I think I am, I went to that same spot. 

After a lunch date this morning with the RUF pastor I walked (barefoot) from the downtown area to the city park, where an outdoor theatre stands, backed against the woods. Before this theatre existed there was a zoo. In the zoo there was an old bear. Flannery O'connor would walk to the park and sit and watch the bear, and write. So I followed, but in classic Hunter style I felt too arrogant to be exactly where she was so I walked about 50 yards from the theatre to a wooden picnic table, which stood under the shade of a bent willow tree, and overlooked a rippling pond. I wrote about half of a new short story and sparked another one, the second one is really weird so when I write it and you are offended I'm sorry. 

So, since I sit here now with no plans, I think I will go finish these stories as my friend Caroline has suggested, and maybe I will get in the Lord's Word as well.

Ciao.