Deep Drifting

T'would be nice to know what I was doing.  It seems that for the moment I drift.  No particular place to go.  Nothing in particular to do.  No particular goal to achieve.  (Except writing two books and co-writing a film script for a film that will most certainly get made…but enough of that.  Such stuff doesn't seem to count when one feels rootless.)  I live in a charming little cabin in the deepy woods that could be taken away at any time.  An interesting place to be.  Like being weightless in a space capsule floating about in uncharted space.  I could float off at any time.  Yet I look out my tiny porthole with an eye just as it has always been: timeless, curious, eager, expectant, and fully believing in magic.  Magic is nothing more than intent.  I intend – ah, that's how I started this paragraph.