yesterday i saw my first whale
it's going up north
from baja california to bering sea in alaska
p.s.
i also started my journal of the natural world
26 April 2010
16 April 2010
go
the night is about the world growing, changing inside us: a volcano erupting, flowers rapidly blooming, wild animals running through the woods, birds making maps in the sky, a heavy storm of memories and the stillness after that. at the center of that world is an animal, growing, changing, transforming. he shakes his head, falls on the floor, and lets out a howl. he sings and the landscape bursts with life, with color. it is spring.
jónsi at zellerbach auditorium, berkeley, ca
04.15.2010
12 April 2010
We want to be human, always, again...
Postcard to I. Kaminsky from a Dream at the Edge of the Sea
by Cecilia Woloch
I was leaving a country of rain for a country of apples. I hadn't much time. I told my beloved to wear his bathrobe, his cowboy boots, a black patch like a pirate might wear over his sharpest eye. My own bags were full of salt, which made them shifty, hard to lift. Houses had fallen, face first, into the mud at the edge of the sea. Hurry, I thought, and my hands were like birds. They could hold nothing. A feathery breeze. Then a white tree blossomed over the bed, all white blossoms, a painted tree. "Oh," I said, or my love said to me. We want to be human, always, again, so we knelt like children at prayer while our lost mothers hushed us. A halo of bees. I was dreaming as hard as I could dream. It was fast--how the apples fattened and fell. The country that rose up to meet me was steep as a mirror; the gold hook gleamed.
by Cecilia Woloch
I was leaving a country of rain for a country of apples. I hadn't much time. I told my beloved to wear his bathrobe, his cowboy boots, a black patch like a pirate might wear over his sharpest eye. My own bags were full of salt, which made them shifty, hard to lift. Houses had fallen, face first, into the mud at the edge of the sea. Hurry, I thought, and my hands were like birds. They could hold nothing. A feathery breeze. Then a white tree blossomed over the bed, all white blossoms, a painted tree. "Oh," I said, or my love said to me. We want to be human, always, again, so we knelt like children at prayer while our lost mothers hushed us. A halo of bees. I was dreaming as hard as I could dream. It was fast--how the apples fattened and fell. The country that rose up to meet me was steep as a mirror; the gold hook gleamed.
09 April 2010
spring
i am a summer-autumn-winter person
i do not know how to garden
and i cannot for the life of me name plants
but this year, i will let myself become a spring person
i will start a plant journal
and learn how to garden
now, some spring music:
:)
05 April 2010
book lover
last week, i saw a girl reading a kindle on the train ride to berkeley.
that day, i was carrying five books in my bag:
two hardcover books
and three paperbacks.
i welcome the "inconvenience."
reading books is a sensory experience:
feeling the different textures of pages between your fingers
the smell of old books
the crisp sound you hear when turning a page
i love how books take up space
i love carrying my books around
i take great pleasure in arranging my books
i need a bookshelf
04 April 2010
rainy sunday
what i was reading inside
(first read this when i was fifteen.
rocked my teenage years spent in an all-girls
catholic school)
p.s.
but life is really about02 April 2010
birds in flight
Birds in flight, claims the architect Vincenzo Volentieri,
are not between places,
are not between places,
they carry their places with them.
We never wonder where they live:
We never wonder where they live:
they are at home in the sky, in flight.
Flight is their way of being in the world.
- Geoff Dyer
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