When we last saw our hero two whole months ago, he was trapped in the fast lane on the info superhighway, unread book in hand, struggling to find an exit sign…

When I first started this blog three years ago, I originally conceived it as a “moblog” — a mobile blog, meaning, I had just bought myself a nifty little smartphone, and my posts were all to come from the road, I would never have to sit in front of a computer screen. Sadly, my clumsy thumbs got in the way of that concept, leaving me back at a regular old weblog-blog ….

Last weekend I took a long hike in the woods, and I twittered from the trail, this time with an even smarter phone and fell in love again with the nimble, lightweight moblogging idea. My thumbs still being my thumbs, I went to the store today and bought a baby folding keyboard to allow my fingers to walk freely, and right now, I sit on a bench on a path on the banks of the Potomac river with my little contraption, a light wind at my back, the sound of water lapping against the banks. Returning to moblog.

I can’t tell you what I’m thinking right now (I spent all day thinking and i’m actually pretty f*ing burnt out on the very thought of thinking) but I can tell you what I see — to the right is the National Cathedral, looking gorgeously uplit as usual. Straight ahead is the Air Force Memorial, looking Wolverine’s claw-ish, as usual. To my left, planes are taking off and landing in the distance at Reagan Airport. A group of Chinese men are fishing and smoking next to me, piles of dead fish (at night they are white silhouettes) behind them. Behind me to the left is Hains Point. In the grass at Hains Point is a gigantic sculpture that looks like Zeus had recently dropped from his perch in the heavens and has impacted himself into the earth, meteor-like, and is now fighting his way out of quicksand.

Rising off the bench and walking, a blue heron perches on the railing to my left, water’s side. As I approach he flies about 20 feet down and perches again. I approach again and he flies 20 more feet to the next perch. Repeat, repeat, repeat again. To my right, I hear kids snickering in a willow tree as I pass. At the next bench, a man is making out with a woman that isn’t his own. More dead fish. The heron doubles back thus ending the cat-and-mouse. I step in mud. I drag my left foot on the pavement all the way back to my car.

I’ve made some changes in my life. Some big, some small. Some nothing at all. I point my smartphone at the sky and moblog these words into the ether. I sneak across the 395 underpass back to my car.