I can't sleep…
Ask her what she craved
and she’d get a little frantic
about things like books, the woods, music.
Plants.
Seasons.
Also freedom.
— Charles Frazier, Nightwoods: A Novel
Notes:
5:35 a.m. Clear. Cool. 39° F. I open the door, step out onto the front porch, and look out at the skyline. It’s as fresh as if it occurred 5 minutes ago, triggering disbelief and racing its way on to fury.
Yes, it could have been any number of topics that I came across in this morning’s paper. “When do we get to use guns?…How many elections are they going to steal before we kill these people?” Or, “…refusal to provide information to the House Committee investigating the Jan 6 attack on the Capitol. Or, “What abortion access looks like in Mississippi.” Or, “Rep Congressman shared a threatening voicemail he received following his vote to pass the $1.2T infrastructure bills…’I hope your f—- family dies…you f— piece of f—- s—. Traitor.”
This all would have been adequate kindling to light a raging fire. But, no. As worthy as these subjects are, they did not. Not at that moment.
And what’s the line from Tip O’Neil? ‘All Politics is local.”
No, this has nothing to do with politics. And everything to do with local. Like the neighborhood.
I was struggling… overwhelmed with the world, and I had this feeling that I just wanted things to stop for a while so that I could catch up. And I told my mom at one point that I was going to…spend a few weeks where people wouldn’t expect me to do anything other than just stare out the window…And she said, “You need to go to the wilderness.”
~ Terry Tempest Williams, Erosion: Essays of Undoing (October 8, 2019)
Photo: Luksefjell (Norway) by allanaasland (via Poppins-me)
My life is quiet.
There is little beside working and walking.
I have no desire to see people, and I feel as though I am waiting for something new and strange which will burn the unburnt side of my soul.
~ Kahlil Gibran, (1912) from “Beloved Prophet: The Love Letters of Kahlil Gibran and Mary Haskell, and Her Private Journal”
Notes: Photo: Sébastien CHAZALET (Annecy) with Alone.
It is in the poetry of the simple things, in the gestures, the light and the bristling new day outside my windowsill. I see it all, with commotion, one that nature so candidly can display down this avenue that is life. The drenched pastures, the fleur d’orange inundating the kitchen parlor or the crackling sound of haulm wrapped up, headed to the farm down the driveway. It might seem like an ordinary thing, but in a frenzied life that we live in, this is a bit of bliss that needs nothing but appreciation for the candor it brings. This is my world. A world of calm and ease, to inspire and acquire the taste of the land and smallest details of living. Be it a line from a book, a nostalgic emotion, or a walk through he woods in Portugal.
~Ana Zilhao
Notes: Photo: Jorge Verdasca with Forest of Ivy (Portugal). Quote via Make Believe Boutique