crepuscular suspending spectrums

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I am home for a week here before I take off again for a little Californian adventure, with a wayside stop through Boston to visit some friends. I feel very independent to be packing up my suitcase alone and planning time in far away places. I like to travel alone, but I am grateful that there will be dear faces to meet me at each of the stops along the way.

I have also decided that this shall be the Summer of Poetry, or something like that. Basically, I have three goals: (1) Read more contemporary poetry. (2) Always carry a book of poems in my shoulder bag. (3) Write seventy-five poems. That's five a week with one week of vacation. I know this sounds over-the-top, but I haven't pushed myself to do something hard recently. And maybe it will help me see if I really like doing this thing that I simultaneously find excruciating and freeing. I am scared to write this here, but I thought sharing my summer project with the world would force me to actually hold myself a bit more accountable to it.

And after one week, this is what I have learned: to write you have to love words, to really really really love them. To notice them, say them out loud, whisper them at night when you can't fall asleep, keep a log of them with you at all times, underline your favorite ones when you are reading books, just fall in love with the sound of them. Spectrum. Fester. Suspend. Disparage. Crepuscular. 

[click for pc - jess, you and I are taking a picture like this soon]
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