sun tea in large mason jars

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Summer is soon soon soon. And this is soon . . .

[copied from an e-mail from one lovely girl]

sun tea made in large mason jars
blake gardens
botanical gardens (uc and tilden)
find a lake, because
read a book aloud to each other
go up early to the hills to watch the sunrise
watch the sunset from the back of the whale (all will be explained)
eat lots of homemade seaweed soup
the ocean, naturally there is the ocean
forever picnics
vintage spelunking
cooking, lots of this
excellent films
the book shops
babette cafe on tuesday afternoons
the bell tower, such a view
the drunken boat, french cafe, live music nights
cheeseboard pizzas
free day at the sf moma
golden gate park
bare feet
MARY OLIVER IS A SAINT
tale of the yak
definitely breakfast trays in bed while watching movies at 10am on the weekend
walks to the bakery to get bread
going to work together at the museum
backpacking
rilke.yeats.eliot.dickinson.others
bubble tea

I have an inkling that this will be a good summer.
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peace and rivers

Someday I will live by the sea and wake to a mingling of fog and blue every morning.

And Em and I are currently at the Festival of Faith and Writing. Completely overwhelmed by creative inspiration and books and poems and people and wonderfulness. And we met Luci Shaw tonight. I had her sign a book for me, and she wrote, "Peace and rivers, Luci." Isn't that lovely? Maybe I will start signing my name that way. Or maybe "Peace and sea." That doesn't quite have the same ring to it though.

Peace and rivers to all tonight.

[picture from maine last summer - just want to be back there . . . ]
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that is why our music is so sweet

These days and weeks of late have been full of more goodness than I could have possibly imagined. Warm and sunshine-y and slow, full of bike rides, picnics, cappuccinos, and bookstores. Do you ever just stop for a moment and feel so blessed and wish that your capacity to accept the blessings could increase?

My very very very favorite poem. (I think.)

An African Elegy
[by Ben Okri]

"We are the miracles that God made
To taste the bitter fruit of Time.
We are precious.
And one day our suffering
Will turn into the wonders of the earth.

There are things that burn me now
Which turn golden when I am happy.
Do you see the mystery of our pain?
That we bear the poverty
And are able to sing and dream sweet things.

And that we never curse the air when it is warm
Or the fruit when it tastes so good
Or the lights that bounce gently on the waters?
We bless the things even in our pain.
We bless them in silence.

That is why our music is so sweet.
It makes the air remember.
There are secret miracles at work
That only Time will bring forth.
I too have heard the dead singing.

And they tell me that
This life is good
They tell me to live it gently
With fire, and always with hope.
There is wonder here

And there is surprise
In everything the unseen moves.
The ocean is full of songs.
The sky is not an enemy.
Destiny is our friend."

[all lovely film pictures by heather]
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great waters fell from heaven

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Spending the weekend in Cincinnati with Em and Torunn: driving through windmill-land, listening to Josh Ritter and Dolly Parton, snuggling all three together in a double bed, eating Gram's best banana bread, lazy mornings spent laughing and drinking coffee, writing essays about the Haitian Revolution, etc.

In other thoughts: we talked in Renaissance Art last week about this watercolor by Durer and I cannot get it out of my mind, especially the words Durer wrote about the dream that inspired the painting.

Sometimes my dreams and hopes just seem fuzzy and obscure, like this watercolor. And that, I think, is why I find Durer's words especially profound: May the Lord turn all these things to the best.

Because, in the end of things, I find those are the only words left to say.
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up on a mountain

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He cries oh, oh, oh, will you stay with me?
He cries oh, oh, oh, will you wait with me?
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