Circle

It recently occurs to me,
as I sit among friends in the long, sweet grass,
that I have returned to something essential of my youth
just as I embark upon the middle phase of life.
what bliss! to move forward and come home.

This morning I:

walked the dog a mile on Augusta road, getting wind-blown by long distance trucks, counting caterpillars (6), capturing farm-field-blue sky vistas with my camera mind.

began Swann's Way. again. found an old passage I underlined but don't remember reading. Actually liked and related to the language and sentiments.

unfurled my favorite old tapestry to stretch and read and watch the dog under the ambivalent trees between me and the sky. The wind rustled leaves and I almost slept. remembrance.

cooked and ate the lunch of a 75 year old Italian grandmother: spinach, egg, tomatoes, cheese, bread in garlic and olive oil.

filled out therapy paperwork with thoughtful, honest answers. no easy task.

made the bed. I love those crazy birds!

organized silverware into three pleasing containers.

now I have gone to work.

made the bed.

Companionables

Reading The Year of Magical Thinking and Just Kids simultaneously, by accident. Two couples, both alike in artistry, in New York or California, where we lay our scene. The women are writing for the men, who are dead. Remembering and making an elegy.