I have so many things I could write about my time up here in the woods–the mysteries that have worked themselves out with a cheerful efficiency, the quiet tribe I have formed with Grace and the two dogs living here. I have been walking a lot, matching the rhythms of Daisy, the white terrier mix who is outgoing and hypervigilant in a way that feels ruefully familiar. As I walk, ideas about my work arrive as well as the heavy feelings I usually keep at bay: fear of the future, grief, some sour anger. Daisy’s pacing is good for me—the emotions show up and depart with more cheerful efficiency.
Memories show up too—mostly painful ones—as if here in this out-of-time-space where the silence is punctuated by crickets and wind and many birds’ opinions, here I can piece together my past without the usual danger of being destroyed by it. I wake from a voluptuous nap in a hammock, an open book still dangling from my hand, and it is as if I just now told my lover that he would not be coming to Maine rather than five years ago this month. Continue Reading →
Yesterday was all about the moon.
I wake at five, when the world is still sleepy and quiet, before the day has knit its brow. I sit by the open window while the air is still cool, and I watch the sky wake, sweet as a toddler. I admire my coffee and my permakitten, both steaming at my side, and smile at the mango beneath my fingernails: a little more sweetness snuck into this morning. For the rest of the day, I will complete onerous errands and overdue assignments; it will be very hot and very humid; the news surely will be very bad. I am wondering, I am really wondering, if there will be another moment as pretty in this long, troubled July.