Sun Moon Stars Rain

I drove into the sunset, then towards the moon.


The horizon was bleeding - bursting - brilliant oranges, deep cranberries, and golden hues into the sky.  I wished I was on my bike so I could stop and watch.  On my right was the sun spilling the last of its warmth into the evening sky, while on my right, the moon was rising to take its place in the quickly cooling night.  With the two opposing, yet strangely mirrored objects on opposite sides of the horizon, on opposite sides of myself, as I wished I could create a collage of pictures spanning the entire width of the sky, with these sun and the moon bookending the spectrum of our heavens, the words of the Flaming Lips played through my mind so clearly:


Do you realize the sun doesn't go down?  It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round.


And maybe the world doesn't really change the way that we think it does, maybe it's just ourselves that change, and our different perspective causes the world to look so different.   

Tearing My Heart in Two

It's hard for me to understand, and I just don't know what to do about it, but this morning I realized that I am in love with two different places.  I awoke to another crystal-clear fall day, sat outside on the joggling board, dipped my toes in the delightfully cool water, and watched butterflies flit from flower to flower.  It was quite magical, and I thought to myself, once again, how much I love the water.  Simultaneously, however, I was longing for New Orleans in that gut-wrenching way that makes my stomach hurt (or is that just from Pilates yesterday?).  

I can't quite grasp how I can so whole-heartedly love both these places at the same time.  And it's not in the way that you love, say, the country and the city at the same time.  I don't love them for different reasons, or wish I could split my time between them.  I want to live fully in both places at the same time.  It's heart breaking, and I just don't know what to do.  

Sunset

The perfect ending to a wonderful day.

The Simplicity of a Fall Morning

This morning I awoke to a crystal clear view across the harbor, and felt compelled to go outside to see if it felt as wonderfully fall-like as it looked.  And boy, was it ever.  As I sat on the porch, lazily eating yogurt and reading a magazine, I realized what I have been missing.  The past few weeks have been a flurry of jobs and general hurriedness, so much so that I forgot about some of my priorities, goals, and passions.  This morning was a much needed reminder.  It never fails to amaze me how the most mundane and seemingly trivial moments in life can bring you such joy, and can so effortlessly realign something in yourself that has been off-kilter.  

Today's Love

Sitting on the dock after dinner with a glass of wine watching the last of the colors leave the sky.  The way the fiddler crabs clear the dock before me as if I am the cruel, wicked White Witch.  The bats flying in their wayward patterns catching the abundance of mosquitos and other bugs, sometimes coming close enough that I could hear the beat of their wings.  The gauzy, nearly-full moon, behind a thin veil of clouds.  

Swamp People

My favorite summer read so far this summer has been Atchafalaya Houseboat: My Years in the Louisiana Swamp (listen to the author on NRP here).  Even before the final section of the book, I knew that Gwen Rowland would be one of my idols.  Indeed, after living on a houseboat in the Louisiana swamp, and a patchwork of jobs, she talks about how sustainable agriculture has been one continuous thread throughout her life.  

I know that I romanticize houseboat living, but I've always dreamed about it, especially after last summer's few days in Amsterdam and Seattle.  This book makes it seem even more incredible - a bed suspended on ropes from the ceiling (I imagine being gently rocked to sleep by the wakes of passing boats), catching and growing as much food as you possibly can (that freshest of fresh taste every single day), bathing in the tea-colored river (nothing is better than being submerged in a good river), visiting amazing people such as Alcide Verret by boat and swapping stories (french-press coffee and homemade goodies to accompany the tales - I don't even like coffee!)...





The photos, by C.C. Lockwood, are just magical, and truly make this dream-like account seem possible, livable, if only we try hard enough.  

Water Water Everywhere

That "comforting blanket of humidity" has turned into an utterly stifling quasi-fog over the last few days.  My sunglasses fog up before I even make it out the door, and it's pointless to dress in anything nicer than gym clothes if you will be spending extended time (more than 3 minutes) outside.  My all-black interior and exterior, AC-less car has been firmly parked in the shade and not touched all week.  This heat has driven me to swim.  

I always joke with people that I couldn't live without the water nearby, that it runs in my blood, that I'm more comfortable in the water than on land.  Lately I'm truly starting to believe this.  Maybe it's just because it's too darn hot to do anything else, but I've been in love L-U-V with the pool this week.  And not just being in the pool, but with being underwater, even though there's nothing to see really.  I'll swim laps underwater holding my breath because it's just too wonderful to come up.  Or I'll lay on the bottom of the pool observing the fish-eye world, enjoying my 360º vision.  Or perhaps I'll float just beneath the surface, amazed that I can see my reflection as if in a mirror at just the right angle.  

Today in the pool I thought about how wonderful it would be to own a scuba tank so that I could stay underwater in the pool for even longer.  Of course, this is an entirely ridiculous use for owning a scuba tank, but that's how badly I wanted to be able to stay underwater.  Maybe I should sign myself up for some dives, but nothing here will ever be able to compare to my Hawaiian scuba initiation.  

(Beautiful photo from Daniel Balda)