The light fell from the sky in cataracts of pure transparency, in torrents of silence and immobility.
The air was blue, you could hold it in your hand. Blue.
—Marguerite Duras, The Lover
Happy Pi Day! I hope you had a slice to celebrate today.

The light fell from the sky in cataracts of pure transparency, in torrents of silence and immobility.
The air was blue, you could hold it in your hand. Blue.
—Marguerite Duras, The Lover
Happy Pi Day! I hope you had a slice to celebrate today.

Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell.
It fell upon a little western flower,
Before, milk-white, now purple with love’s wound,
And maidens call it “love-in-idleness.”
Fetch me that flower; the herb I showed thee once.
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again
Ere the leviathan can swim a league.
—Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 2 Scene 1
Happy lovers’ day!
Continue reading “Love-in-Idleness”
It is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world.
—Mary Oliver
OK, 2026. Yikes.
Continue reading “This Fresh Morning”
I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which braces my nerves and fills me with delight.
Do you understand this feeling?
This breeze, which has travelled from the regions towards which I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes.
Inspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become more fervent and vivid. I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of frost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as the region of beauty and delight.
Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even… a mouse.
Happy Christmas all!
Measure the walls. Count the ribs. Notch the long days.
Look up for blue sky through the spout. Make small fires
with the broken hulls of fishing boats. Practice smoke signals.
Call old friends, and listen for echoes of distant voices.
Organize your calendar. Dream of the beach. Look each way
for the dim glow of light. Work on your reports. Review
each of your life’s ten million choices. Endure moments
of self-loathing. Find the evidence of those before you.
Destroy it. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sound
of gears and moving water. Listen for the sound of your heart.
Be thankful that you are here, swallowed with all hope,
where you can rest and wait. Be nostalgic. Think of all
the things you did and could have done. Remember
treading water in the center of the still night sea, your toes
pointing again and again down, down into the black depths.
Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale, Dan Albergotti
Porcellanopagurus is one of the many attempts of Nature to evolve a crab.
—Lancelot Alexander Borradaile
CRUSTACEA. PART II.–PORCELLANOPAGURUS: AN INSTANCE OF CARCINIZATION. 1916
Little by little, and also by great leaps
life happened to me, and how insignificant this business is.
These veins carried my blood, which I scarcely ever saw,
I breathed the air of so many places without keeping a sample of any.
In the end, everyone is aware of this:
nobody keeps any of what he has, and life is only a borrowing of bones.
—Pablo Neruda, October Fullness
It’s my 30th birthday today! Now begins my journey to thirty, flirty, and thriving.
“Anyway it will be autumn tomorrow or the next day: I can smell it in the air—summer smoldering.”
— J. L. Carr, from A Month in the Country (Harvester Press, 1980)
“The evening sky was awash with peach, apricot, cream: tender little ice-cream clouds in a wide orange sky.”
― The Golden Compass
the June nights are long and warm; the roses flowering; and the garden full of lust and bees,
Virginia Woolf, letter to Vanessa Bell