Wasted my writing time on income taxes. Going to get a refund this year. whoopee. I watch myself get a charge out of seeing our life in numbers in income tax forms, in organization, efficiency, imagined order. That's fine, I think, ain’t that cute, what's the harm. So now I try to get back to writing, to see what will happen if I just start to write about what it's like to walk down Lake City streets, wander down the street today with nothing on my mind, take the dog along. Maki on the leash living, enjoying every step. She would really love it if I took off work today and we went for a walk even though it's windy and rainy and dank and damp and cold. Maki wouldn't care, she'd get into our normal routine, our walk up 39th, maybe go down the steps toward the Lake, stop at the place where the giant weeds grow on along the steps down from 130th to the fancy houses down near Lake Washington. We always pause at the concrete landing in the steps about half-way down. In the summer these giant noxious weeds grow, they're called devils claw foot, I think, big as trees, trunks thicker than my arm covered with prickly fuzz, extending high above my head, wide claw shaped leaves fanning out, shading the path, obstructing the view of the north end of Lake Washington.

On a clear day you can see the white frozen cone of Mt. Baker, up north three counties away, in Whatcom county near Bellingham. You can see it clear as a bell; it looks like a bell someone left out in the snow. The lake seems calm. Then you hear a buzz, and your eyes are drawn to a speck on the lake's surface that you soon realize is a float plane from Kenmore Air Harbor, one of those Dehaviland Beavers or Otters heading straight for me on these steps with a view. Maki's ready to go. She pulls the leash, seems to say come on, come on, let's get with it, is this a walk or not? We go on down the steps, I tell her to wait, and she does, sitting primly, brown deep-well eyes glancing up for assurance, giving a slight grin of pride. We continue down the steps. Maki is me. Observing Maki, I see my own impatient tug, my own frustration at the rules, at the restraints I put on myself, at the guidelines we live by, at the lack of spontaneity.