Beltane Beltane Moon
All day. A thought comes. A sigh, hoping to delve into, oh, say, renaissance humanism. Dive in and just stay there until all there is to absorb crawls inside my skin and remains. Or, maybe Romania. Wondering just how the Slavic countries ended up north and south of Romania-Hungary-Austria. Here’s another part of the world about which I know almost nothing.
Later, watching Kate, seeing her sinking back into a life without paid work, a sense of relaxation, of being at home. At last.
Looking at the Google art. A kris. A southeast Asia blade with a wavy, not straight edge. Indonesia. Again, a country with a population comparable to the US and lots of islands, but, again, not much is in my head about it. A little. Bali. Krakatoa. Suharto. My god, it has 17508 islands.
Lyndon Johnson. In the first volume of Robert Caro’s four volume (so far) biography. He dominates, pushes, acts out against his parents. The hill country of texas. A difficult place, a trap for the unwary. Most of the people who lived there.
The dogs. At the vet. 18 years to the same vet. Many dogs, all panting, all nervous. Rigel, Vega and Kona today. Rigel and Vega, sweet dogs. Kona more aloof. A grand dame.
Irrigation overhead busted in the southern vegetable garden. Pulled loose from the pcv that feeds it water. Have to fix it. Plant more collards and beets. I’ve touched most of the plants here, memories. Buying them at Green Barn. Digging a spot for them. Pouring water on them. Over the years, 18, lots of plants, thousands. One at a time. In the soil. Maybe pick it up and move it or divide it. That sense of a deep, long connection.
Dream of the Red Chamber. Chinese literature, the third classic of the four major ones. Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Monkeys Journey to the West. Sinking into the rhythms of another culture. Reading it on the Kindle. Odd juxtaposition of past and present.
original by Ivan Walsh)
Now, tired. Smelling the lilacs Kate brought me. Thinking of sleep.
