This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Details Sketch from One Month Ago

I'm sure I have mentioned that things were pretty intense on the inside of our heads, separately and collectively while Hadj and I were living with my folks in October.  In that time I began blogging elsewhere because I needed an outlet.  I guess I wanted it to be a bit more separate and only slightly more anonymous.  I only ever got around to writing four posts and now that lovely little blog is sitting, neglected, at The Present Tense.

The name of the blog is from a Gwendolyn Brooks poem.  The line in the title bar was tweeted by Poetry Magazine near the start date of the blog.  How appropriate, to lift the text written by a famous poet from twitter for use in a blog about The Present moment.

My last defense / is the present tense
The first post jumps around in a stream of consciousness style, because the idea I was knocking into over and over was one of wanting to capture it all in words. Now. And now. And now again.  Even the most mundane of scenes can be turned into identifiable art with the right eye for detail and adjectives.  Let me give it another shot...



Rain drops and taps loudly on the roof.  From the trees.  I can't tell if it is still raining from the sky.  It falls almost constantly from the canopy here.  The pigment through the skylight hints that the clouds may be breaking.  The refrigerator, on the other side of our studio's makeshift walls, hums competitively with my computer.  I am slumped, too tired or lazy to sit upright after pushing myself in our run again this morning.  The dogs lay quietly, about three lengths apart on the brown rug, a yin and yang of sleep.  The clean laundry is not yet folded.  Gabbie's foot twitches in dream.  I want nothing more. 

Oh that's fun.  I delight in details.  I am the girl who can't hike more than twenty feet in the forest without breaking and bending to examine more ferns and moss and the rocks dropped around.  My imagination latches on all things small and palmable.  Meanwhile my memory grasps at images of curling cigarette smoke in the humid air.  I quit again, three days ago.

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