every age


“That was when I learned that words are no good; that words don't ever fit even what they are trying to say at. When he was born I knew that motherhood was invented by someone who had to have a word for it because the ones that had the children didn't care whether there was a word for it or not. I knew that fear was invented by someone that had never had the fear; pride, who never had the pride.”
[William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying]

Though words are no good, this weekend in words: Derek, road tripping to Asheville, Mountain Man and Grouper on the Blue Ridge Parkway, craggy gardens and frosted rhododendron bushes, bald mountains, nineteen degrees, rum and cider and thyme, reading aloud bits of Faulkner, lemon and sugar crepes and wine late into the evening, ceramic earrings, squash and farro, coats and scarves for the first time, long lines for morning coffee, all those strange childhood memories, and that even when there are no words there is another person who knows what you would say if you could say it.

Also, this song.