Yesterday was Sparks’ last day at work. Mimi was at school. It was my last full morning alone in the house. It was overcast and drizzling. I took a walk down the forest trail and didn’t bring my camera… and regretted it. I took these pictures with my phone, which had a smudge on the lense and kept popping the flash. Oh well.
“The Pacific coast forest is different.”
“I’ve been to the redwood forest.”
“It’s so full of life and so full of… I don’t know…”
“Primordial. It’s primordial.”
I want to build a dry stone wall. I want to build a wheel house. I want to spin and weave a woolen cloak. I want to sit by a fire as the darkness draws in. Maybe I want to carve stone.
Some day I will go to Aarhus to see his peat-brown head
Hwæt, wē Gārdena in ġeārdagum þēod cyninga þrym ġefrūnon hū ðā æþelingas ellen fremedon.
I am the artful voyeur of your brain’s exposed and darkened combs, of your muscles’ webbing and all your numbered bones