Once upon a time, this blog was going to be all about my pet bird, when I got one. But I never did get that bird. So, now this blog is about the beautiful, curious things that keep me in a near-constant state of happy distraction. Ironically, many people find these writings when they wonder what "peristerophobia" means. It's a fear of pigeons. I've made a bird blog after all.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Rain in morning, fog in night, rain in late night.
For the first day of classes, precipitation everywhere: a day so humid that when it stopped raining, the air choked on the desire for it to start again. Everyone was a little giddy, some people sodden. Guiding discussion, photocopying, scurrying, grabbing food for an impromptu advising session / office picnic, movie-screening, negotiating class lists: it all added up to thirteen hours away from home, a departure in grey wet light, a return in the dark-white of night fog and damp.
There's something quite gratifying about being pulled back into the circles of a common purpose, and of a common purpose multifaceted and capacious enough to hold us all in loose embrace as we spin out to follow our senses of what is needful.
Tonight I will fall asleep to the hiss and ground-slap of a shower.
Annie Dillard could have been writing about me when she said (of herself), "I like the slants of light; I'm a collector." Or Willem de Kooning: "I'm like a slipping glimpser." And don't forget Brenda Ueland: "I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like a child stringing beads in kindergarten--happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another." But the Beastie Boys might have said it best: "When it comes to panache, I can't be beat." There's a reason I wear a ring that says Badass.