I read a set of papers by a woman who writes that she goes wondering down trails and I know that she means wandering, and then realize that I like wondering better. I wonder as I wander. I love to go a'wondering, which is what I do when I read sheaves of papers, flurries of papers, avalanches of papers. My back and neck and shoulders ache from the weight of so many papers, so many minds, so many wonderings. For all the body stress, the wondering is wonderful.

Where else, in what other work, could I live so many lives?