May 9, 2010

Yesterday was cool but blazing bright. The rhythm I’m finding is unfamiliar–that is, my major creative work is coming in late afternoon and evenings, which makes the day, somehow, seem longer and richer. I don’t see a significant break until I leave for Europe– which volcanoes or economic turmoil may yet prevent. I finally cleared away the last of the great stand of brush–much of it twenty feet high, a many-trunked tree-bush that I never identified– which ruled the northeast corner of my property since long before it was my property. The city sanitation workers have so far managed to ignore a pile of brush at streetside the size of a small house, and a phone call to draw their attention to it. The garden is perfection. The scent of peony lies heavy near the ground. The iris now have their day. Over the years I seem to have acquired something in every color, even a sort of flesh-pink which, beside blooms that are nearly black, is quite dramatic. The roses which have sailed through the various droughts and plagues are mostly yellow. All is well.

Michelle Denham died in Akron. I remember her arrival at Betty Jane School. Third Grade sticks in my mind, but whenever it was, she always had the feel in my head of a “new kid.” This is quite ridiculous. She was laughing and merry, and it was a bad idea to put us together, as the silliness quotient would soar. He tried to teach my father how to use his computer.

Jacob came to meet the cats and fish and to orient himself in the house. I’ll have to write everything down, as we spent most of our time chattering about other things. I thought he was married, possibly a father. In fact he has a lover named Peter, who lives in Atlanta for professional reasons and visits when he can. Just shows you can’t tell by looking. The image of that big, blue-eyed lug devouring poetry that way he does is itself erotic.

Night. Bought two LED lilies, which soak up sunlight during the day and pay it out at night, one gold, one scarlet. I thought they would be beautiful in the garden. I’m not sure they’re beautiful, but they are striking and vivid. I keep walking to the window and looking at them, amazed each time, glad that I am old enough to remember a time that makes this time look like a world of wonders.

Adam K and I brunched on the New French Bar terrace, where the line between warn sun and cool shadow was as sharp as on the moon. Great afternoon, great talk. It may be the last time I see him for a while, and it was good to part on a note of intimacy.