Washington, D.C.

Yesterday was all museums and monuments and magnolia blossoms. All that beauty, and today I am sick. It must be "Art Overload" (an acute case). For the life of me, I cannot think what else it could be.

Pictured: A light installation at the Hirshorn, circa 2007

So Don't Get Any Funny Ideas

Just to remind you, I only wear practical rain-boots.

It's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

In February, it is good to go and look at bones and long-dead things and think about how, yes, you are cosmically insignificant. Think about how you have known it all along and still suppose those petrified stones probably make your own flesh more relevant. 

Just, whatever you do, don’t dwell on it.

Rhubarb, If I Can Get It

I am not-quite-but-almost counting the days until the spring onions sprout and I am in Michigan, again.

I have asparagus plans. And strawberry plans. Rhubarb-if-I-can-get-it plans.

There are months to go, but I am tired of citrus. Although, maybe someday I'll live in California, and pick oranges all winter.

Right now there is June in Michigan, and I am not-quite-but-almost counting the days until the mock-orange blooms.

Cold-Blooded

Sometimes, when I am done wailing and gnashing my teeth, I get very still in my bed and try to remember if I accidentally slipped out on of those nights and made a deal with the devil, or Jim Rouse, or someone, and that's why I can't get myself out.

I have stopped telling myself that I am "stuck" here. That is mostly because the implications are frightening, and people tell that you're never stuck, and I think they say that because they know if I was, the glue would dry up and harden and one day I'd shrivel up with it.

So I am not stuck. There are all of these other words for what I am, and I could name them here, but sometimes I am afraid to name them even for myself, because they don't imply, they just are. I am, if nothing else, afraid. 

Jim Rouse may or may not have anything to do with it, or he may have everything to do with it, but I can't get myself from point A to point B-- point C I cannot even fathom.

I have been trying so hard to stop being such a tortoise about everything. I have been waiting underground for fair weather for some time now. Every time I do poke my head up, I move terribly slowly. Still, there was this story, and there was a point A, and a point B for sure, and something about a Hare, and I remember now-- a Tortoise. Have you heard that one? Do you remember? How does it end?

Warmer

It snowed last night, and again today, and the geese, who'd flown north already, turned around and went back again. I heard them on my walk this morning, sounding all sad and agitated on their way. I am on my way, too, going to Richmond tomorrow. It'll be just a little warmer and just a little less lonely, I hear.

Nightmare Walk/Bagel Run

Well it's not exactly where credit is due, but  

it's been another month without a nightmare walk.

I am not sure what to tell you about all of that, except this morning I accidentally retraced my steps (on a bagel run) and nothing really happened. 

That has got to count for something.

For Mrs. F.O. Stanley, Again

Today will be a mud-boots day. Please recall: 

"I said in my heart, 'I am sick of four walls

and a ceiling.

I have need of the sky.

I have business with the grass.

I will up and get me away where the hawk

is wheeling,
 Lone and high,

And the slow clouds go by."

-From Spring by Richard Hovey, 1907

Well that's all.

Soon II

I am craving bricks and sun and Southern cities.