"But the magic comes from the power of good, that force which tells us we need not give in to the limitations and restrictions imposed on us by McFate, as Nabokov called it."

the start of school and merc in retro madness my turn tied to the wheel the days spill over into dreams and windfall.  i miss my blog, the time and space to write but life elbows out my reveries takes the armrests and eats all the popcorn.  merc in retro kicks my butt this time around im ready for the space of october.  all of a sudden you realize youve forgotten summer and autums faerie queen sweeps in with her fragrant raggedy train of rain, cider and woodsmoke.   

"Every great work of art, I would declare pompously, is a celebration, an act of insubordination against the betrayals, horrors and infidelities of life."

so many images uncaptured but there here behind my eyes brown till and dry corn, sun through a turned willow, up on the hill with the old hippies so many things i saw and wanted to show but my hands were full of books and wooden toys and the batteries were dead i just opened my eyes to it all the accordion player in the hayloft, the rain in puddles behind the boathouse, a mans hands on a lathe.  we ate good soup and bread and the world could be like this if theyd let it.

"...all victims of the arbitrary nature of a totalitarian regime that constantly intruded into the most private corners of our lives and imposed its relentless fictions on us."

i got a box in the mail today.  a me id long forgotten.  love from a friend, like a voice from the top of a well.  buoyant optimisn for who i was and may become.  i was overwhelmed it was a trove of opal, ruby, tourmaline.  sd you took the time to say youre not alone.  i see you.  and i felt the heart of me stir in her sleep, reach blind toward dreamlight.  thank you.

"...for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder."

they wanted latkes and we ate and talked for a sane quiet moment.  at work i battle abuse, neglect, intestinal parasites and a boy whose nose has run for three years.   i am the voice in the wilderness, the lame cry of a mother to children jigging toward a reckless piper.   the weather liminal by turns brilliant and dark.  pouring rain and rainbows.  gale force and stillness.  the clouds are marvelous landscape.

"We articulated all that happened to us in our own words and saw ourselves, for once, in our own image."

but i feel the difference being away from all of this, of me.

45 of 365:

1.  this book.
2.  the elegant architecture of the universe.
3.  latke dinner with my family.
4.  a bumpersticker that reads, "AIZIET!"
5.  my friend, sd.
6.  a gift beneath the pillow and over the sheet.
7.  david rovics.
8.  my boys humor.
9.  the decemberists.
10.  the folk on the hill.