I am here and I write to you

[rebeccmeister]

I really need to bring my camera home to take a few pictures---I have done some substantial rearranging over the past couple of days. The change is nice and you might like to see it.

This afternoon I need to remember to:
make cupcakes
go to the grocery store
get to sleep on time
fret, but just a little bit, not too much, and only because I can't help myself

On Wednesday D and I joked around about saving scraps of things for the day when our biographers come along. Some days, I can feel the weight of my story line and small words being diluted out by the thoughts and lives of billions of other people, like people stretched across the whole planet form a buzzing hive suspended in space (astronomy pictures give such a different perspective), each bee caught up in a different message. I listen to stories on the radio about people whose lives have been lost in the name of a cause or ideal or idea or utter thoughtless nonsense, and I wonder what will become of those stories. I think about the colors and smells of lives narrated in other languages and other cultures.

I don't know what comes next.

You are right about the poetry of wonderment.