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.
Now is the time of year when my brain slows to an absolute crawl. I’m trying to write an overdue piece on a topic I adore–a topic I campaigned to cover, for heaven’s sake–and all I can think about is ocean breezes, porch swings, fresh corn, snapdragons, sugar snap peas, glasses of rosé, a book beneath a tree, tan limbs wrapped around my own. If in winter I prefer to hibernate, in summer I only wish to sprawl–Mama Nature is producing such glorious bounty that it seems disrespectful to compete. Yet deadlines loom and, ever the freelancer with a case of the Cassandras, I feel compelled to take all the assignments I can, especially as it’s work I am lucky to do. (Remember your ancestors’ struggles, chants something deep in my blood.) Yes, this concrete jungle boils over; yes, my temper threatens to do the same. But somebody’s gotta buy that premium permakitten food and I’m the only member of my household with opposable thumbs.
The dove family took off from our fire escape the day before yesterday. That morning, Grace and I rushed to the window first thing as had become our ritual. But only Sweet Baby Blue, the late bloomer of the roost, was waiting for us. I suspect he’d been dispatched to say goodbye and thank you, for he perched on the rail with an erect bearing that made him look very grownup. He looked straight at us, and I felt Gracie straighten accordingly in my lap. Then we all froze. Grace’s green gaze, my green gaze, the dove’s dark, bottomless gaze: It suddenly became a big moment. Continue Reading →
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.
Now is the time of year when my brain slows to an absolute crawl. I’m trying to write an overdue piece on a topic I adore–a topic I campaigned to cover, for heaven’s sake–and all I can think about is ocean breezes, porch swings, fresh corn, snapdragons, sugar snap peas, glasses of rosé, a book beneath a tree, tan limbs wrapped around my own. If in winter I prefer to hibernate, in summer I only wish to sprawl–Mama Nature is producing such glorious bounty that it seems disrespectful to compete. Yet deadlines loom and, ever the freelancer with a case of the Cassandras, I feel compelled to take all the assignments I can, especially as it’s work I am lucky to do. (Remember your ancestors’ struggles, chants something deep in my blood.) Yes, this concrete jungle boils over; yes, my temper threatens to do the same. But somebody’s gotta buy that premium permakitten food and I’m the only member of my household with opposable thumbs.
The dove family took off from our fire escape the day before yesterday. That morning, Grace and I rushed to the window first thing as had become our ritual. But only Sweet Baby Blue, the late bloomer of the roost, was waiting for us. I suspect he’d been dispatched to say goodbye and thank you, for he perched on the rail with an erect bearing that made him look very grownup. He looked straight at us, and I felt Gracie straighten accordingly in my lap. Then we all froze. Grace’s green gaze, my green gaze, the dove’s dark, bottomless gaze: It suddenly became a big moment. Continue Reading →