After a busy, beautiful day yesterday full of wedding love and great music (Thanks Friends and Family! You guys were incredible!) Kali and I decided a road trip and couple days with Livs in the country would be ideal. The drive down was, as always, breathtaking - miles of staggering, misty mountain views - and things cleared up right about lunch time. Just in time for wine tasting and walks and books and a nap.
The sky gets away with being dramatic far better than humans do. This week, it hasn't decided what it wants - so it throws tantrums of rain, and then sweetens up, before it collapses in fits of drizzle again. But it is beautiful. And overwhelming. Wonderfully so.
And I found anthuriums today - furled little trumpets, and wings spread - I didn't know they even grew here. They so remind me of home and a garden full of mango trees, and giant spotted leaves, and these in red and pink.
I am at my desk, not at the coast, lest this picture should lead you astray. But it's from our weekend at Point No Point and I loved it. And also that beautiful views are alive and well just beyond my line of sight and my computer screen is a comfort and a joy.
And it's back to Seattle with it's fantastic sky line and lakes and sailboats. It was nice to be gone, but it's always nice to come back to our beautiful city. Work could stay on hold for a few more days though - at least until this sun decides to take off again.
I'm not really ready to be done with the rainforest or the beaches. But here we are, Sunday already and I'm on my way back to Seattle. We hiked down to Second Beach through the ferns and greenery and came upon a beautiful little cove of beach with specacular rock outcrops and clear blue ocean and hermit crabs scuttling in a makeshift lagoon. It was almost warm enough for swimming. Maybe by August?
Look out for Prospect this summer - it's going to be a good one.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load
and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit
with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the
hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And
still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days
will never cease, For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy
cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever
seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap’d
furrow sound asleep, Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy
hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head
across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not
of them, thou hast thy music too,— While barred clouds bloom the
soft-dying day, And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river
sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast
whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in
the skies.
* * *
The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it.
Well here we are, Ballard. Thanks for being great and giving us good bars and my gym and pretty buildings.
* * *
An Ode to a Beautiful City
Crafty hands and loving hearts extract beauty of stones and earth. The magic of human ingenuity competes with the Divine Prowess to create. No, no. Isn’t it the Best Compliment for the Divine Hand. A micro organism in this limitless cosmic space can even feign the Divine. O’ We the homosapiens are a mean lot, of all the mess we make a few things we do get right. No mean feat.
Today was the last day of V-day, and what a beautiful success it was.
Thank you to all who performed, directed, set up, encouraged, supported, persued, took part, came, and engaged.
Thank you for being part of a movement that is so worthy and so important.
* * *
Rising
Written in Kerala for the women of India who lead the way
This could have been anywhere And was Mexico City Manila Mumbai Manhattan Nighttime men waiting like wolves Drooling for prey behind that single dimly painted door paying nothing a couple of dollars or euros rupees or pesos to have her Enter her Eat her Devour her and throw away her bones.
This could have been anywhere And was A Buddhist nun on a bus Trying to stay dry for the night A woman leader speaking out against The repressive government A young woman traveling with her boyfriend One lost her voice The other her following The last one her life
This could have been anywhere and was Pink wooden crosses A stack of stones Red wilting carnations Empty chairs in a square Ribbons flying in a sultry wind
I ask Anna Nighat Kamla Monique Tanisha Emily Why Why Porque Eran Mujeres Parce qu'elles étaient des femmes Because they were women Because they were women
This could have been anywhere And was Where she got fired for being too beautiful Fined for drinking after she was raped A serious offer to marry her rapist Got told it was legitimate but not forcible This could have been anywhere They do such a thing When the girls go for fire wood Step into the lonely man’s car Drink a little too much at the college party Wake up with her uncle’s fingers inside Run from the screaming machete and guns Be taken at sunrise Get a bullet in the brain for learning the alphabet Be stoned for falling in love Be burned for seeing the future
I am done Cataloguing these horrors Data Porn 2 million women raped and tortured 1 out of 3 women a woman raped every minute every second one out of 2 one out of 5 the same
one
one
one
I am done counting And recounting
Its time to tell a new story It needs to be our story It needs to be outrageous and unexpected It needs to lose control in the middle It needs to be sexy and in our hips And our feet It needs to be angry and a little scary the way storms can be scary It needs to not ask permission Or get permits or set up offices Or make salaries It wont be recorded or bought or sold Or counted It needs to just happen It is not a question of inventing But remembering Buried under the leaves of trauma and sorrow Beneath the river of semen and squalor vaginas and labias shredded and extracted stolen body mines mined bodies It is not about asking now Or waiting It is about rising
Raise your arm my sister my brother Raise your one Billion Your one heart Your one of us
I used to be afraid of love It hurt too much What never happened What got ripped away The rape The wound And love I thought was salt But I was wrong I was wrong
April again! the willow wands are yellow Rose-red the brambles that the passing wind knows, Comes a robin's note like the note of a 'cello, And across the valley, the calling of the crows,- 'April again!'
April again! and the marsh birds swinging Over the rushes that belong to yester-year; Silver shines the river, and young lips are singing Songs as old as Eden-as old and as dear; 'April again!'
April again! with a wet wind blowing, And along the western sky a pathway of gold; Sounds a call to follow the road we're not knowing, A new road-a wild road-o'er fairy lands unrolled,- 'April again!'
April again! with its wonder of gladness, April with its haunting joy, and swift-stinging tears,- Month of mist and music, and the old moon-madness, Month of magic fluting, the spirit only hears,- 'April again!'
Seattle bound again! It was brief, out little sojourn to the country, and lovely. My dearest unfortunately ran into some trial and tribulation in the form of shrimp that I allowed to be put on the table (they expired in 2010). To be fair, they were mixed in in minute quantities with an island concoction Sri Lankans know as Chinese Chilli Paste which a. I've always assumed never expired and b. Markus will probably never eat again. This of course made the prospect of driving home a little hellish, but we trucked on. He trucked on, I should say - I was a little useless (being about as confident as a jellyfish on stilts when it comes to driving stick shift vehicles).
Besides that we had a beautiful drive up, good conversation, and made it safe and sound to the bosom of our city
There is nothing - nothing, I say - better than three day weekends. They are better than free coffee, better than sales at anthro, better than even packages. They are not better than Thai food.
Today I floated awake after 12 hours in my featherbed grave to twittering birds, sunlight and free life. It was a day of nothing and a day of everything. No rushes, no hurries, just walks, and apple crisps, and Fantastic Mr. Fox. And then my featherbed again.
