Seamstress
Patient night, with her pincushion sky. . [ 1536 ]
Hands wrapp’d ’round a warm cup — faceless night, nameless fire. . [ 1533 ]
Terrible poetry, yet what a joy it is to read, for love is blooming with the weeds. . [ 1532 ]
Have I ever had a problem that didn’t begin with words, or end in their absence? Not that I can recall. The irony is, I have been writing all the while. August 25, 2022 . [ 1531 ]
The shedding birch catkins have attracted the bushtits. Brief as it was, theirs was a joyous visit this morning. Music by the pound. There must be at least forty pounds’ worth in the plastic tub — lesson books, sheet music, and various bound collections. I took out a few — a book of scales in my old piano teacher’s hand, complete with fingering; two books for new beginners; and books […]
A few chords on the piano, smooth the keys to my hand. Bare feet on the pedals. How many years has it been? A crate of old music. The wind. Shall I try to play again? August 22, 2022. Late Afternoon. . [ 1528 ]
Enchantment. A very slow run with the moon and stars and clouds. Haste not, want not. . [ 1527 ]