The wind in the trees at night in October sounds like all the silent wishes of dreams, rushing to be first in line.
Color shift, mood shift
Tag: autumn
the lake is blue, the forest watchful
"every detail clear, tin cup and rippled mirror. The day is bright and songless" —from Morning in the Burned House, by Margaret Atwood Spent two days camping upstate midweek, and the first day was clear and beautiful, temperate.
September
Waning of summer month, end of beach weather month. Back to work and back to school month. Memory— no A pattern, died in the wool. Buckled-up books, backpacks, cardigans. Skirts and stockings and closed-up shoes that suddenly feel too tight. Early rising, hasty breakfasting— Tie your shoes and Don’t forget your lunch and The bus… Continue reading September
A philosophical pedestrianism
Autumn, like Spring, is adventure time. Wander time. I’ve been filling up on these. You decide an initial direction or destination, from there you follow your feet, or state of mind. You flow. Chasing miles. Chasing the magic hour. Moonrise. It's nice to chase it all in my own city; the deepening blue, jeweled with lights of infrastructure and the… Continue reading A philosophical pedestrianism
a monday in autumn
November rain; grey. Dark indoors— all the lights on at midday. Wrestling with invisibles, lately, and frustrated with things beyond my control. Sometimes the freelance life has too many things outside one’s control, although it’s true of most lives.
The impolitic nature of Early Autumn Onset Syndrome (EAOS)
Everyone seems to be out of sorts, or in a state of transition lately. Well, that’ s nothing new— life is flux. No, what I mean is that a number of people I know have been struggling with big question marks, consciously or not. It’s been coming out gradually, as the summer wanes. They hint… Continue reading The impolitic nature of Early Autumn Onset Syndrome (EAOS)
Snufkin has broken camp
Zac's contribution to the Museum, an excellent specimen of tintype in a pocket-frame I've been enjoying reading Cloud Atlas, by David Mitchell— "Then he asked, had it not been a seismic shock to be uprooted from Papa Song's and transplanted into Boom-Sook's lab? Didn't I miss the world I had been genomed for? I answered, fabricants… Continue reading Snufkin has broken camp
Airy. empty, open
Reading poems from Sweden on the train the in early dark. My umbrella on the seat beside me– orphaned at the transfer. Here are some of the words, lines like self-sharpening tools: Passing through walls hurts human beings, they get sick from it, but we have no choice. It's all one world. Now to… Continue reading Airy. empty, open
Mid-way in darkness
Today is time to reach 25k in the word count– midway through the month of November. It's dark inside today; the darkness of winter has fallen. And yet– I heard the song of the ice cream truck outside around noon. This is because it's sixty-odd degrees; the playground across the street is filled with parents… Continue reading Mid-way in darkness
The irresistible tide of dreams
It is time to obtain a coffee-maker equipped with the ingenious ability to be set up and programmed before sleep, as, with the arrival of autumn, dreams have returned, en masse. Little matter what time I go to bed (nor how much or little I may read before actually going to sleep)– in the morning,… Continue reading The irresistible tide of dreams
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 