Field Notes: The bridge over troubled waters
Body
IN THE MIDST OF AN UGLY, divisive, and far too long, campaign season, nothing could be better for cleaning out the exhaust pipes than taking an evening walk on the Canadian River Wagon Bridge on a slightly cool fall day in October. Showing rare good sense Tuesday, I abandoned my desk, my growing heap of unwritten stories, and my old cold cup of once-delicious coffee that had grown almost as stale as my thoughts and the writing they were meant to fuel, and headed out Highway 60 to my place of respite.