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, December 01, 2008
Something about the smell of radiator heat in the winter makes me feel deeply secure, and so it is that when I awoke this morning, wrapped in red flowered flannel, to the beginnings of a snowfall and the endings of a long, long work project, I felt cozied--even though there was still that work to be done. And even though today was another day when I did not capture anything with my camera--the nuthatches and titmice and juncos and woodpeckers flocking outside my picture window notwithstanding. And even though my flaming-sworded friend sustained a major emotional blow later in the day. Despite everything, that is to say, it was a day of square settledness of the special sort I get when the air inside is dry and heated and the world outside is hissing and swirling in sleet and flurry.
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.