2009-04-16 - 6:47 a.m.
after a run, outside in the morning.
written down, the text presents in translation a chaos of bristling and tragic words. tragic, because i sense all their dense beauty and because i am helpless before them. ~jean giono, the serpent of stars.
there's a skitter and whisper of maple seeds along the sidewalk. a basket of petunias sways by the door of the house across the street. a wren is building its nest there.
* * *
reading: lecture notes.
listening to: wnyc, over the internet.
working on: edging the garden beds.