More specifically concerning: window
the false dichotomy
waiting for the flood
piscium et summa genus haesit ulmo, nota quae sedes fuerat columbis… A family of fishes clings to the utmost elm, once familiar as a seat for the pigeons. – Horace (Odes, 1.2.9–10) A fool might think they were beautiful, their white wings flashing in the sun, their rubid eyes sparkling. They are no longer content […]
not at home
At home in the evening, planning escapades. The books read and unread gathering coffee stains and toast crumbs. The at one time unimaginable, commonplace. Things moving slowly. The sense of progress, though: gears turning, ticking well-oiled shiny. Intangible, unavoidable, inescapable. Backed into imagined corners that flatten and fade and open onto unexpected vantages. Yet continuance […]
Under the window-seat in the back parlor, where wasps die and desiccate, the memories are kept, unlocked, unbidden, and inaccessible – mint-green florilegium, pallor bred under the western sun. The thought makes me sleepy.
A view (26)
From the kitchen balcony.
A view (27)
A view (30)
Boiling the kettle for tea steams up the windows. Still no snow, though.
The changing patterns of frost on the window are always interesting to me.