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2015-19-12 - 8:30 a.m.

charleston, 2015.

t, w: in charleston, i press hard at the things i love - gelato on a hot day, a long walk along the battery at night, good coffee and buttermilk pie. a pane of glass between a person and the world. i manage a few pages of work on a project with a lapsed deadline, late at night and in great distress.

th: in the morning, i wake my husband first too early, and then too late. nothing i do is right. we check out from our hotel and rush through breakfast at a tea shop where students from the law school grab prepackaged easy meals and coffee of indifferent quality.

over the years. some objects have come to feel like old friends - this taxidermy pelican, that mossy-glazed storage jar, a long strip of bark in the process of being deaccessioned.

after lunch with the director, we meet our friends from out of town. a small silver-haired woman in a gauzy seafoam-colored blouse gives us a tour of the manigold house. we have an early dinner at hominy grill, and then we leave the city.

there's a single pink streak in the sky above the highway. i was last here in the winter, when the fields were dusted over with wisps of cotton instead of snow. today, gold creeps into the tobacco leaves but everything else is green.

f: i make a list of things i want to buy: cinnamon and sumac and black seeds from the syrian grocery, white rose flour from the food lion, okra and field peas from the farmer's market.

5 miles walk at raven rock.

too late.

* * *


reading: that book about the essex disaster.
listening to: joanna newsom, divers.
working on: fixing up the bedroom.
in the garden: where shall i put the day lilies next year, when i divide them?


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