12 October 2013
I bought a new desktop wallpaper app called Kuvva today. I’ve set it to change wallpapers every 30 minutes, but then I found this one, and I’d like to keep it for a while. There are beautiful scenic landscapes, and focused close-ups. I like having new beauty presented to my computer. It feels like a small luxury.
The news: I’m quite a few weeks behind on ModPo, but my notes are still here, and I’m planning to complete it all at some point. The forecasters say: brace for chaos, but it’s really just going to be an incredibly cold winter. This is my new investment: Homefront Luxury. I cleaned the washing machine today; why do we forget that even the washers need washing? Even the teachers need teaching. Even the compassionate hearts need compassion. I stripped the towels of all the built-up detergent residue. We watched The Terminal, and I fell a little more in love with Tom Hanks. We went food shopping. I dragged the bag on wheels up three flights of stairs. We meditated last night while soaking our feet in salt water to draw out the remains of the day.
I am working hard, and beginning the system to hibernate. I rearranged the living room so that my desk is a little futher away from the window. Just up against the wall by the fireplace. Just enough distance to stay warm, I hope. Next on the list: find thermal curtains.
These lists… they don’t ever stop – they keep going and unscrolling ahead of us. But on nights like these, when I look around at an orderly home and a clean space, I can see the physical manifestation of where my work goes. And that feels amazing.
It is October, these are letters, and I love Ted Kooser. Perfectly appropriate.
A Letter in October
Dawn comes later and later now,
and I, who only a month ago
could sit with coffee every morning
watching the light walk down the hill
to the edge of the pond and place
a doe there, shyly drinking,
then see the light step out upon
the water, sowing reflections
to either side—a garden
of trees that grew as if by magic—
now see no more than my face,
mirrored by darkness, pale and odd,
startled by time. While I slept,
night in its thick winter jacket
bridled the doe with a twist
of wet leaves and led her away,
then brought its black horse with harness
that creaked like a cricket, and turned
the water garden under. I woke,
and at the waiting window found
the curtains open to my open face;
beyond me, darkness. And I,
who only wished to keep looking out,
must now keep looking in.