Here's how Norman Maclean ended A River Runs Through It, one of the finest books I ever read:

"Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

"I am haunted by waters."

I figure all old men are haunted by one thing or another. My father has his war. Norman Maclean had his water. I am haunted by ink. Words. Words on paper. I like the way printed words look. I like the way they smell. Printed words swimming in a murky river of ink. I spent years as a journalist. That was easy because the words most always drifted downstream with the current. But I have written other things too, stories of my own making, words that have ended up in books and those words often seemed to be pushing upstream against the current. They are difficult words to catch. Someone suggested to me recently that I have used my natural ease with journalism to escape the tough writing I should have been doing all these years. And maybe he is right. But Norman Maclean was a lucky man, finding words under rocks like that; it doesn't work that way for me. When I reach into the inky depths and turn over the rocks I know I must turn over, the words often swim away from me, upstream, into the murk. But I wade after them because I cannot stop. It is the fate and the vocation of a man obsessed with turning over rocks and looking for words. Sometimes I catch some of them and sometimes I have nothing to show for it. Either way it is very hard work. But I am haunted by ink.

Perhaps that helps explain my new tattoo. Perhaps not.

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Speaking of ink, Rhonda, my friend of more than a decade whom I have never met in person, wrote about my tattoo and other things on her blog today. Ours is a virtual friendship built entirely out of words over time. There is probably a pretty good book hidden away in the reams of emails we have exchanged over the years.

I just spent a few days on a ranch near Del Norte in southern Colorado. It is a beautiful place. There was snow on the mountains and there were fish in the river and the locals don't seem to like Barack Obama very much. But there is a real affinity for Sarah Palin. You get the idea that these are the people - just plain old middlin', hardworking white folks with guns - for whom Obama will never be the president (therefore they have every right to denigrate both the man and the office; in fact, they seem for all the world like folks who would deniggerate the presidency if they got the chance, just like lots of those people who show up at Fox/Bill O'Reilly/Glenn Beck-induced rallies and tea parties, people who prefer their African Americans in the woodpile not the White House and always will). But for them Palin always will be the chance America missed. I found this sign in the middle of town. The drawing is better than the spelling.

Meanwhile, read In the Heart of the Heart of the Country by William H. Gass and Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad and keep reading the good stuff. Understanding the boogeyman helps keep him at bay.

There is a good chance that Texas has executed an innocent man. What else would you expect from the state that elected Rick Perry to be its governor? Todd Willingham was executed in 2004 for setting the fire that killed his three children. Now it appears that there are huge questions about whether the blaze was arson or not. Ooooops! But Gov. Perry isn't letting that bother him one little bit. When asked about the case, Perry said he thinks Willingham was guilty even if the arson evidence doesn't stand up to scrutiny. The question (appropriately raised by Michael Landauer of the Dallas Morning News): "How does the governor think Willingham killed his kids if not by arson?" If the arson wasn't arson what was Willingham guilty of? Even for Gov. Perry, not known for his intellectual prowess, this seems pretty damned dumb. The sad thing about the whole case is that no matter what, Perry goes on being governor and Willingham goes on being dead.

And Texas goes on killing people who kill people (or not). Christopher Coleman is due to die today while the rest of Texas settles in for a good dinner and an evening in front of the TV. Kenneth Mosely is scheduled to die Sept. 24. And John Ballentine on Sept 30. Six more are scheduled for execution by mid-November.

There was an op-ed piece from the New York Times in the local newspaper this morning. It quotes President John Kennedy telling his wife as they prepared to fly to Texas on the last day of his life, "We're heading into nut country today." Texas will kill you if it gets half a chance. JFK knew it. Todd Willingham knew it. I know it. And two of the three of us are already dead. I think about that sometimes.

After seven years I remain the UnTexan. Texas kills.

I am sitting here listening to music I told myself I outgrew a long time ago. I first came across Peter, Paul and Mary when I was on my way to Bob Dylan but didn't know where I was going. They made a wonderful noise together. What was more important was that they made a meaningful noise together, fitting their voices together around the words in an old harmony I could understand. And that is what I was after - meaningful noise. It was 1962-63 and the times were changing sure enough and I was 17 years old and in need of something to believe in. I could feel it and when I listened to Peter, Paul and Mary - especially Mary - I heard it too. Mary Travers. There was nothing like her at my high school; the girls there were too tidy to be sexy with their Peter Pan collars, virgin pins and Capezio flats. They were thin-lipped southern women in the making. I could already see it in their faces. But Mary Travers was from New York City. Mary Travers had that long blond hair, those bangs, that voice. She made folk music sexy, especially for those of us who were not quite sure what we were listening to or why, and were nowhere near ready to hear Bob Dylan sing his own songs. She was a sexy woman making a meaningful noise. She seemed like everything I wanted in a woman, the kind of woman who would want a man like me. When I met her (backstage after a show though a cousin of a friend of a friend whose other cousin played bass for Peter, Paul and Mary if I remember it correctly) she was - frighteningly - a woman. And I was only a babbling boy in front of her. Not long after that I "outgrew" Peter, Paul and Mary, found Bob Dylan and abandoned prim and thin-lipped girls with Peter Pan collars and virgin pins. Mary Travers died Sept. 16. She helped me get past harmony and get on with my life.