Saturday, April 28

I can hear the gulls but cannot smell the sea.

I'm just back from the market, getting milk, eggs and some brown bread to go with the vegetable soup tonight. And some apples to core and stuff with toasted nuts and honeyed dried fruits and then bake with whisky butter on top.

Perhaps I was made for living at home, quietly. Cooking simple meals and doing simple housework seems good to me. On the other hand, my life has been so adventurous that it seems I will never slow down. My mind is forever filled with the glory and filth of a thousand different cities.

I have desired to go
Where springs not fail,
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail
And a few lilies blow.

And I have asked to be
Where no storms come,
Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,
And out of the swing of the sea.

I wish I could light a candle in my room, or have a fireplace. I need a cat. I love wool sweaters and thick socks, window-seats and the smell of books.

Props to Hopkins for the poem, of course; it is called 'Heaven--Haven' and subtitled 'A nun takes the veil'.

In response to the comment on the previous post:

I mean that I am sceptical of practice rather than theory. Love seems to be alright in books and in ideas, but when real people get their grubby little hands on it, makes the whole thing real and lopsided. Love is no fairytale, nor ever was it. That is what I mean.

Not that I mind it, of course:)

Wednesday, April 18

Somebody Loved.

I'm putting this together to prove to myself that I am only sceptical of living men, not love. Because I got teased again, last night, and I don't understand why I am so different. Again.

That ought to say something about what I think of romantic love.

Saturday, April 14

I could have told you this.

You Are 56% Nerdy

You may be a bit surprised with this score, but your more of a closet nerd than an actual nerd.
Stop denying your inner nerd! You're truly dorkier than you think.

Wednesday, April 11

Spring is glorious, here.

There are blossoms on flowers, new and bright and fresh--like lightning. There are fragile new leaves, children from gnarled branches of ancient trees. It hurts to look at it all in context; like some unveiled banner of a very powerful cause. I guess rebirth is a powerful cause. Easter is.

The grass is lively and soft and very, very bright. I took off my shoes the other day in the park, and stood barefoot in the grass. I had let my hair down (it was still damp from washing, but smelled sweet) to dry in the sun, and it felt good to let the sun shine on my face. I realised it had been awhile since I could step outside without the tip of my nose being consistently cold.