The days roll by in their summer haze and I feel their movement and my own.
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The days roll by in their summer haze and I feel their movement and my own.
After a weekend of wonderful busyness, the hound and I potter around slowly outside.
From busy to quiet in the blink of an eye, planes carried the men of the house to far away destinations yesterday.
Our son is home from university during his Easter vacation, and the house is full once again these days.
We went walking on the beach this afternoon at the close of a getaway snatched from the jaws of everyday time.
I sit beside the hound as our week of quiet draws to its conclusion.
Sitting in silent communion with the spirits of the Tazza Fountain in Hyde Park’s Italian Gardens I feel the magic of this particular spot once again.
The past few weeks have been marked by resonances. Voices from poetry, history or theatre have figured so strongly that they are escaping from my mind, ready to leap onto the written page.
There have been days of overwhelming business of late, infused with that peculiarly American insatiability. It climbs right up inside your soul and grabs you by the throat, seemingly intent on stealing your last breath too.
The hound and I have been out and about this week. Temperatures soared once more. At times the light had a flat brightness that could cut glass.
I found myself this afternoon. Amidst the aisles of one of Americana’s chief meccas with my husband and daughter I was busy alongside everyone else’s business.
We’re up and about early this morning here; basking in the glorious Southern Californian sunshine. Summer decided to pay February a visit last week and the temperatures soared into the eighties.