On perfect weather days like this I find myself simply being. Walking around the Plaza and its environs while my friend is at an appointment that I've driven her to. An hour of solitary small pleasures. No news to share but an abundance of ever-changing images! Moments in time that seem both vivid and fragile.
Each step along the sidewalk is a dreamtime of color. The camera shutter silently clicks. Photographers do what they do to hold moments in time longer than fleeting reality allows. We have possessive personalities. Mere reality isn't good enough for us. Is it red rose hips against an adobe wall? Or Emily Dickinson's words about how the sun rose
a ribbon at a time. I want to walk through the forest's confusing crochet of sun rays through leaves, hear the noisy low river and what it has to say for itself. Take pictures of aspens, green and white, against a cerulean sky. They won't stay green much longer. There isn't time.
I take what I can fit into a busy schedule as I prepare for my trip to San Francisco on Monday. Poetry and responsibilities, the sadness of my neighbor's mother's death in the wee hours this morning. The family still reeling from their son's death in July. The only consolation is that she lived to be 95 years old. I try to clear off my desk, make lists, figure out what to pack (lots of black clothes, knitting, a new toothbrush), plan to stay up late the next few nights and get it done. Meanwhile, in between commitments, movies, editing and writing, I've finished two pairs of hand warmers. The knitting is meditative and a third pair is on the needles. The moody gray color, the softness and simplicity - just what I need now. I'll keep knitting until all the yarn is gone. Both pairs (there really are two although I only show you one of each) are long, knitted from that great Rowan dk soft - one pair with a stripe, the other plain. My pal and I will need them by the Bay next week.
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