Writing in the Redwoods

In my little treehouselike cabin in the woods, it can be either really hard or really easy to write. It's hard when there are a lot of things to think about other than writing; it's easy when the spirit seizes me, and the mist is pouring over the ridge of redwoods opposite my writing desk. I carved this desk from two barndoors I salvaged from the Feed n' Fuel. That was the old cowboy bar that used to be down the street from where I grew up. It got closed down a few years ago, sold to developers. But I took these two plywood barn doors from the wreckage site, and my Dad and I made a desk out of them. They're painted the drunkest pale blue mooncolor. Cowboys used to stagger through my desk with rattlesnake taxidermy on their big black hats, wearing sunglasses at night. My ex-girlfriend and I used to slowdance to Neil Young on the jukebox at the Feed 'n Fuel. After I made this desk, I later carved a picture of a whale into it, using the relief cut techniques I'd been reading about in Elmer John Tangerman books.