My camera is not working right now, and I really miss it. I've been envying The Musician's new tiny Canon, but my clunky Sony Cyber-Shot DSC-P72 has been a true pal. One more memory stick for the road....
Today I would have photographed the bouquet I made from yard flowers this evening: lunaria, buttercup, sage flowers. My book, Leap of Faith, by Queen Noor of Jordan.
My bangs and eyebrows, and the sort of bruisy look of my eyelids.
My first ever batch of hummus, with romaine lettuce I grew myself.
All my garden needs documenting--the cold Spring has passed and everything is raring: jalapeno pepper starting, dormant chamomile sprouting, transplanted yarrow taking root. I started some yarrow tincture, bought brandy to do skullcap, and tossed the violet oil (for tinnitus) which got murky. Zucchini are huge already, broccoli stronger and stronger, and spinach seedlings crackling along.
Funny to miss pictures so much, poet me. Poet me reads with Kazim tomorrow at Rust Belt at 7. Poet me re-read typewriter poems from 1983 and was horrified. I kept them though. I realized that I read even poetry and definitely fiction for its emotional content, and because I really wanted to know what peole experienced and felt and thought and how this changed. Also for information I could use every day.
It is strange, as librarian and novelist and poet, to admit I get all of this from the internet now.
Now, please put up more pictures and thoughts and experiences and changes on the web for me to sip, please.
