Wind here today so fierce it makes me want to write about Victorian weather. So fierce it flickered the power off and back on at the beginning of one class. So fierce it made the house hum and buzz in the afternoon like those mouth harps made from waxed paper and combs.
The stripped world scrolls and slips under those swift steely expanses. New flannel sheets spin and spin in the washer, getting ready for bed. Today I made seven pies and watched a small hungry horde of gleeful young people devouring them. Students hosted an open studio night in the art building (whose graffiti you saw back in March, if you'll recall). "And yet we believe," says one wall, "that life is beautiful." Tomorrow perhaps I'll get you some pictures.
Early in the afternoon, weedy stars in my backyard--a small startle, a lovely gift--and the singing sky, the soughing of breeze through branch, the calligraphic reach of grapevine curls to cloud.