(no subject)
here, the cicadas sing so loudly it hurts your ears. here, the buildings are beautiful silhouettes, the view out every window could be a picture. here, when i walk up the stairs to work, i pause to lean my elbows on the window-sill in the stairwell and stare out the old old window. this building used to be a chair factory before it was the communications building.
here i have no time, and this afternoon coming back and reading i feel a tug, the pull of all your words i've been missing, and that i've been missing. this week-end i want to explore this town so i can come back and tell you all about the used-book stores, the tiny cluttered antique shops, the organic grocery & deli, and the street-lamps, and these old old buildings, the old old soul of this gorgeous town. someday i will have a camera and i will take pictures and pictures and pictures to share with you because oh, it is so beautiful here.
here, it rains often. i walked home from the library at nine o' clock on monday night, and it was dripping and warm, and the cicadas hurt my ears, and i took a clanking step on a rain-grate under the yellow pool of lamp-light, and i thought of manguel and his dream of a sherlock-holmes dark rainy london. and i thought of how we dream of places we've never been being a certain way that they never are in real life. but this place is. here, it's just like we dream.
dreams dreams, i had the most beautiful dreams the other night. someday when i have time to breathe, i will draw pictures from them.
here, i am going to be in a play, one of my favorite plays, a terribly funny oscar wilde play (Jack, you are at the muffins again! <--- i always crack up, right there); i am to be miss cecily cardew, and tonight is our first read-through and i am dreadfully nervous because oh i am so insecure. but it will be good.
look at me, all rusty-worded, i can't seem to phrase anything well at all. i must practice my speech (all about manguel's book) and drink water and drink water and drink water! and oh the view outside the window over this desk, it is a perfectly-framed photograph.
here, i am in love with my environment, and that is how it should always be.
here i have no time, and this afternoon coming back and reading i feel a tug, the pull of all your words i've been missing, and that i've been missing. this week-end i want to explore this town so i can come back and tell you all about the used-book stores, the tiny cluttered antique shops, the organic grocery & deli, and the street-lamps, and these old old buildings, the old old soul of this gorgeous town. someday i will have a camera and i will take pictures and pictures and pictures to share with you because oh, it is so beautiful here.
here, it rains often. i walked home from the library at nine o' clock on monday night, and it was dripping and warm, and the cicadas hurt my ears, and i took a clanking step on a rain-grate under the yellow pool of lamp-light, and i thought of manguel and his dream of a sherlock-holmes dark rainy london. and i thought of how we dream of places we've never been being a certain way that they never are in real life. but this place is. here, it's just like we dream.
dreams dreams, i had the most beautiful dreams the other night. someday when i have time to breathe, i will draw pictures from them.
here, i am going to be in a play, one of my favorite plays, a terribly funny oscar wilde play (Jack, you are at the muffins again! <--- i always crack up, right there); i am to be miss cecily cardew, and tonight is our first read-through and i am dreadfully nervous because oh i am so insecure. but it will be good.
look at me, all rusty-worded, i can't seem to phrase anything well at all. i must practice my speech (all about manguel's book) and drink water and drink water and drink water! and oh the view outside the window over this desk, it is a perfectly-framed photograph.
here, i am in love with my environment, and that is how it should always be.