with five days between me and departing, I bought my plane ticket to the midwest this morning. a strange small miracle of ticket pricing occurred and I paid less than one-fifty round trip, I'm still shocked.
three whole weeks of rural greenness, between minnesota iowa wisconsin, and by the time I get to the last the lakes will be warm enough for swimming.
I'm beginning to feel I'm getting old because I am romanticizing the place where I grew up. its pastoral lovely et cetera, its peaceful forested so on.
we spent the weekend in the redwoods, and I fear somehow it weakened my resolve. that lock you place against the fecund softness, against what wants to bloom. the air is heavy there and with the trees behind and the ocean ahead, I saw a whale offshore. a shadow in the waves, really, and sprays of water as it breathed. the angles of the light between the trees, how many spiderwebs I walked through. in bed again in oakland this morning something almost maternal flickered bellyward. what worried me was how I didn't mind. a gentle curiosity rising instead. hoping I can steel myself against it post facto. hoping what is simple wins out.
I think I'd closed my eyes to certain beauties because I have thought that it would keep me safe, and keep me unencumbered. I want to slow myself, soften and let the sweetness sway me, but oh of all the venerated dangers, I don't want to be felled by the classic ones.