Two years ago, we were here:

It has been a very good two years and always seems to be getting richer and sweeter.

This is one big week.

If I have been cryptic about this house stuff, that’s because I don’t really know how it all will turn out.

It’s nice to have productive days.

“O you,
still a child, and slow to grow.
Still talking to God and thinking the snow
is the sound of God listening,
and winter is the high-ceilinged house
where God measures with one eye
an ocean wave in octaves and minutes
and counts on many fingers
all the ways a child learns to say Me.”
-Li-Young Lee, “Hymn to Childhood”

My books are stacked in boxes, but the best stay close in my mind.

an evening in tenney park

It’s morning and the fan is slowly blowing in the window. The table has flowers on it and piles and piles of books, waiting to be packed away in milk crates. There is sun and the leaves are dancing their slow morning dance. I know over the hill there is a market, and I will go later when the sun is higher.

Suddenly it is July.