scrawls
still cheaper than therapy*
2.03.2012
the sun shines golden and it's all dreamy, and the news cycle makes me never want to go - i should say home, but i shouldn't. If i went back it wouldn't be home, like here; i notice even when i visit, and the things i hear make me not want to even visit. Here, i have such a pervasive sense of home, now, in most cases, about most things, and there it would be exactly flipped.Labels: blogging
2.02.2012
it is groundhog day, isn't it? that means ... Happy birthday, old buddy, old pal. I've had Morning has broken stuck in my head for i don't know how long, but seem to have gone all Alice on the lyrics.Labels: blogging
2.01.2012
winter
i love the stacking on of layers, scarf, hat, other scarf, the fingertip gloves. My fingers will feel the thing the Austrians are calling a Russian frost, like little fires, and the end of my nose, and my feet are always cold under the blankets. Always. When it snows we stand still, catching snowflakes on our tongues and mittens, and cut shapes out of paper. We make soup, we make bread, frame photographs, hang curtains. There is an endless collection of laundry, of coffee-cups, of dust in the corners and under the bed. The potatoes grow eyes in the kitchen, and we have named the little black spider in the highest corner of the ceiling. I will put on the flannel sheets later.
Labels: blogging
