A cool, overcast day in August, high temps not even reaching seventy—I had to find pants, find socks, find a sweater, ah.
A cool overcast evening in August, when the skies are dark enough to suggest “bedtime” at eight p.m., and no one argued because it was DARK.
A sliver of an opening in the cloud cover, to show the half moon.
A mug of Good Earth tea.
A bowl of brown rice for dessert, with butter and brown sugar.
A lullaby CD by The Innocence Mission.
One week ago I was swinging on a high hillside, watching the sunset over some mountain range far to the west of Santa Fe. The rest of the evening filled with a circle of readers (my reading went well), a new film of Dante’s Inferno illustrated by Victorian paper puppets, and a return to the circle of readers to hear just a little bit more. I missed Sara Zarr’s reading (rats!) but heard a prologue to Jeffrey’s new novel (yay!) and several other powerful pieces of writing—chapters of books, poems, stories of junior high cruelty, love letters, people read every kind of thing. Too wired, I walked to the koi pond, where other conversations continued late into the night.
Two weeks ago was my first night returning to Santa Fe, a good night to say hello, move into my room. For the opening meeting, a double rainbow stretched across the peaks outside the classroom window. Then listening to the high desert night sounds outside my window.
I haven’t really “returned” yet, haven’t finished my unpacking, haven’t found a routine that makes sense yet. Kids are home and we are on no particular schedule, pausing from our books and projects to hug or find food. I’m sleeping a lot—strange, given that I slept so little for those two weeks away. I’m still holding it all close, this writer’s MFA residency. I am puzzling it.
I will write more (thank you for the nudge, Lisa!) soon.