[and perhaps one day I will]
but every year I still write down autumn things.
Surprised & delighted again at the way autumn makes every good thing the best thing.
When it turns colder we put away the air conditioner and keep the window open while we sleep. We keep it open for as long as we can, through September and into October, before begrudgingly shutting it and bringing out the finicky space heater.
It's open these nights. Mornings are delicious. I've added an extra blanket to the pile and sleep with my socks on. Often I'll peel them off in the middle of the night, unless I'm very cold or very tired.
[On the word "very" - whenever I use it I always think of that quote about it being a lazy word.
But sometimes I like it better.
For instance, I could have said: "...unless I'm frigid or exhausted."
It doesn't seem as nice in my head though, so I suppose I'll be lazy.]
Other autumn things happening:
-Drinking loads and loads of tea.
-Waiting for mail & sending out letters.
-Knitting rather poorly.
All of the good things are all so very good right now. Chuffed to bits.
Hope you're doing all sorts of autumn things too, like walks outside and cooking hearty foods with friends. Hope you're bringing your sweaters out of their boxes and breaking them in with bonfires and pipe smoking under the stars.
|| Life as Poesis. Vocational. Filling it.
Just finished camping in Michigan. Let's go back already - yes? A few moments ago I finished dumping all of the sand out of my bag. Missing the water and the woods and sleeping in the hammock. We camped close to a road, but I still thought of that Wendell Berry poem:
Ask the world to reveal its quietude -
not the silence of machines when they are still,
but the true quiet by which birdsongs,
trees, bellworts, snails, clouds, storms
become what they are, and nothing else.
Coming back to learning days. It is good and growing. All of my days are learning days, it seems. But I'm grateful, most grateful.
Back to work today. We have a table [fondly called The Kitchen Table] sitting at the front of the shop, and family sits there. Not related by blood, but family by familiarity - they've all been coming to the coffee shop for ages. They welcome newcomers and new staff and Margaret always introduces people to one another so that the family grows larger day by day.
It was sweet to come in today and see them again, curious to ponder the people that make places feel like home.
Translated this from the aforementioned notes, if you're interested. It's a fragment of a much lengthier jumble of thoughts:
Sometimes walking in the city can feel like I'm immersed in The Truman Show. You know? As if I'm walking around the backstage of a giant production.
When I'm walking to class, I take a back way, a long way, a quiet way. Few people walk here, so it's always jarring to happen upon a group of construction workers reading and doing crossword puzzles with brows furrowed before they begin their day. You know? We all seem so out of place for a few seconds, like actors out of context - the man wearing their hard hats & struggling over a few letters, pencil gritted in teeth. Me, walking an unusual path. Everyone freezes for those few seconds, even the pigeons: "maybe if we don't move she won't see us..."
Later in the day I stumbled upon an unfinished art show at the cultural center. Huge wooden boxes with cryptic names sat in a hallway, waiting to be unpacked and set up. Aha, I was too early, they weren't prepared for me. I have fooled them all! I have beat their system! Was half expecting a security guard to escort me out, and I could wink at him and whisper that I knew what was going on.
Anyhow. So just a little mad these days.