i know i say this every year, but let's just get it over with: i hate summer. i hate heat. i hate humidity. {end of tantrum}

maybe it's the heat. maybe it's something else, but i want to write...i feel as though there is something that i need to say...but as i sit here, there is nothing.

perhaps what i really need is sleep.


paying attention

wow, it's been way too long since i've written here. time really does fly, whether you're having fun or not...and the sad reality is, that if you don't pay attention, too many days can go by before you even realize you haven't spoken to that friend, read a book, or written a word.

what's happened since i last wrote? hmm... i have a new nephew, a little red-headed dragon named Jayden who has stolen my heart. i got to meet him in may...as well as hang out with my megan & my nicholas, all pieces of my heart.
apart from that, nothing really momentous (that i can think of). oh, i found a new favorite poem. it's called, 'Monet Refuses the Operation,' by Lisel Mueller. it's been a long time since i was so moved by a poem.

Doctor, you say there are no haloes
around the streetlights in Paris
and what I see is an aberration
caused by old age, an affliction.
I tell you it has taken me all my life
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
to soften and blur and finally banish
the edges you regret I don't see,
to learn that the line I called the horizon
does not exist and sky and water,
so long apart, are the same state of being.
Fifty-four years before I could see
Rouen cathedral is built
of parallel shafts of sun,
and now you want to restore
my youthful errors: fixed
notions of top and bottom,
the illusion of three-dimensional space,
wisteria separate
from the bridge it covers.
What can I say to convince you
the Houses of Parliament dissolves
night after night to become
the fluid dream of the Thames?
I will not return to a universe
of objects that don't know each other,
as if islands were not the lost children
of one great continent. The world
is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
becomes water, lilies on water,
above and below water,
becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
and white and cerulean lamps,
small fists passing sunlight
so quickly to one another
that it would take long, streaming hair
inside my brush to catch it.
To paint the speed of light!
Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
burn to mix with air
and change our bones, skin, clothes
to gases. Doctor,
if only you could see
how heaven pulls earth into its arms
and how infinitely the heart expands
to claim this world, blue vapor without end.

how brilliant is that? seriously!

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