Hawk dawg

Sunday, February 06, 2011

I dreamed the moon was the hugest it had ever been, which helped explain our behavior. The real things, though, were the hawk on a near tree when we woke yesterday, and, last night, wind like wind from Close Encounters, shaking our front door five flights up. All these shifts in weather and bird, all this feeling of winter being rent-- by which I mean tearing, torn, but I guess there's that other kind of rent, too. (Did you ever read Howards End? "Rent to the ideal.") This is all a workshop I'm paying for. The rent is slush and chill and knowing we will die, which is also part of the workshop. The cost of the class is the subject of the class, a seminar called "Difficult and Wondrous: The Costs and Rewards of Walking on Through." Syllabus forthcoming.

5 comments :

  1. I freaking love this.

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  2. Thanks, Catherine! Thanks for reading it.

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  3. Well isn't it a funny thing when you look for one thing and something else pops up? (You). I sunk into your words like sitting back into a soft sofa and then decided it must be because we may have similar, spiraling minds that love to wander. Spirit-loose, we are; thoughts not confined in a box; ambling out there, meandering, just for the sheer delight of it.

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  4. I freaking love this, too! (Read while bracing for another blizzard...)

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  5. Wow. Thanks, everyone.

    And Tracy-- ugh! I'm sorry. I'm sick of all this WEATHER.

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