Walking. What you hold, holds you. (Again)


5:45 a.m, and I’m out the door. Dark Sky app says 36° F, feels like 34°, and I call bullsh*t on that. No chance. My finger tips are tingling, a mere handful of steps into my daybreak walk.

But I’m ready. Come and get some of This.  Long johns, wool socks, double lined sweatpants, hoody, tuk (tuuuuuuk), a winter coat sewn by one of Dale’s relatives in Northern Quebec, and Norwegian Merino wool gloves. Because Norwegian’s know cold. And, caution flags are flying, need to avoid public areas looking like this, a threat, and get cut down by an AR-15.

What’s good about Cold?  It keeps the Chatty’s out of the park. And today, even the regulars are absent. It’s me, and the Herons, Queen’s Guards, stoic, standing in ice cold water, winds gusting off Long Island Sound.  Just the way we like it.

94 snaps taken this morning, and that one above has stuck. 92 better shots, but this one won’t let go. It’s the Full moon watching me traipse around the muck in low tide. Robbins: “She wondered how the moon, two hundred and thirty-nine thousand miles above…could affect her as profoundly as it did…Yet, as any half-awake materialist knows, that which you hold holds you.[Read more…]

Then the guns open up and flames light the sky


Note:

  • This morning’s post, in honor of our Veterans.
  • “You stand in a trench of vile stinking mud / And the bitter cold wind freezes your blood / Then the guns open up and flames light the sky / …Flashing red tabs, Brass and Ribbons galore / What the Hell do they know about fighting a war?” —  from a poem written by C.S.M Sidney Chaplin.
  • Photos: DK @ Daybreak. 5:45 to 6:15 am, November 11, 2021. 33° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT

Slowly…

Slowly, dawn was breaking.

Streaks of colour – peach bellinis, orange martinis, strawberry margaritas, frozen negronis – streamed above the horizon, east to west.

Elif Shafak, 10 Minutes 38 Seconds in This Strange World (Bloomsbury Publishing; September 24, 2019)


Photo: DK @ Daybreak. 5:52 to 6:35 am, November 9, 2021. 46° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

The part of life
devoted to contemplation
was at odds with the part
committed to action…

Life, my sister said,
is like a torch passed now
from the body to the mind.
Sadly, she went on, the mind is not
there to receive it.

Louise Glück, from “Autumn” in “Winter Recipes from the Collective: Poems” (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, October 26, 2021)


Portrait: Louise Gluck via The Atlantic

Miracle. All of it.

Dear Babies,

I now know that you are a boy and a girl. The girl is bigger than the boy now, by 12 percent, and you’re both over 2 pounds, and the boy is presenting first, head down. I had a dream that the boy came early but the girl stayed inside; and the boy didn’t want to breastfeed but instead asked for sausage and cheese, and I was impressed with his verbal abilities. I have been resting up and reading, hoping you stay in there for at least another couple of months. Most people come into the world by themselves, but you will (knock on wood) come into this world together. I hope you both feel safe and sound and cozy there together.

Love, Mama

I got my epidural. My doctor told me to hug him around the waist to reduce my shaking and increase the chance that the needle found its target. I threw my arms around him, grateful. I got my Pitocin drip. My husband and I watched basketball on television. I never watch basketball. Why were we watching basketball? At midnight time sped up, and they rushed us to the OR. Everyone in scrubs, just in case. My doctor put on his birthing mix tape. I think it began with “American Woman.” Looking into the face of my husband, I pushed William out. I heard a baby cry. “Is he all right? Is he all right?” “Yes, he’s perfect.” Then the doctor reached inside me, as he’d promised, and pulled Hope out by the legs. “Is she all right?” “Yes, she’s perfect.” The nurses laid Hope and William side by side in a crib and checked them. The nurse told us the babies were holding hands. Before they held the hands of their mother or father, they held each other’s hands. I began shaking.

Sarah Ruhl, from Smile: The Story of a Face. (Simon & Schuster, October 5, 2021)


Notes:

Trees and water. Simple and beautiful. Beautiful and simple.

The water had been so cold. Its coldness seemed to spread not only from my throat and into my thorax, but also from the cavity of my mouth and into my head. But it was a different coldness than was in the air. This one was pleasant, as if smoothing and enfolding. And what was inside me became clearer to me, too. My heart beating with such simple beauty. The blood streaming to every part of my body. Yes, the blood streaming, the heart beating, and the emotions too, likewise of such simple beauty, diffusing in a different way from the blood, moving more like shadows on the ground when the sun passed behind a cloud, suddenly to re-emerge, flooding everything, first in one way, which was joy, then in another, which was sadness. And all as the heart beat and beat. And the trees grew, the water ran, the moon shone, the sun burned. The heart and the blood. Joy and sadness. Trees and water. Simple and beautiful. Beautiful and simple.

Karl Ove Knausgaard, The Morning Star: A Novel. (Martin Aitken, Translator.) (Penguin Press, September 28, 2021)


Notes:

Sunday Morning


DK @ Daybreak. 6:30 a.m. to 7:30 a.m., October 24, 2021. 43° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. (@dkct25 on Instagram)

Hands

As part of a closing hand-off ceremony for the 2020 Tokyo Paralympic Games and the 2024 games in Paris, choreographer Sadeck Waff worked with 128 performers in a dizzying performance focused on arms and hands. The French dancer and choreographer has become known for his limb-centric performances which you can watch more of on Instagram. Music by Woodkid. (via This is Colossal)


Thank you Mimi!

Daybreak

Some gulls soared in the air above me.
They seemed almost to be enjoying the warmth and stillness.
A stillness so seldom here.

—  Karl Ove Knausgaard, The Morning Star: A Novel. (Penguin Press, September 28, 2021)


Photo: DK @ Daybreak. 6:57 am, October 19, 2021. 45° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT

The faith that gives us wings. Or at least a soft place to land.


Notes:

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