October 10, 2011

Stood in the mesh green house at Reems Creek Nursery. A huge monarch fluttered against the wall, trying to get out. I caught it in my hand, where it was not diaphanous at all, but sturdy, indignant, its legs palpably gripping the palm of my hand. When I let it go outside it shot like a bullet almost due south, high up in the blue air. Later saw another butterfly, high, high up, and quite alone.

Dream last night, wherein a group of us from high school were told to follow certain signs to places where important things would be revealed to us. Angie Parrotta was first. She had to dive down into a cement pool in Ellet. What she found there made her laugh, but she wouldn’t say what it was. The signs told me to go to the Amos Englebeck Lodge–my father’s masonic Lodge in Akron–though the place in the dream was a huge camp in the forest, with a pavilion in the center. What I was told there was so inconsequential that I figured I’d best keep it to myself lest it discourage the others, so inconsequential that I have forgotten what it was.

Vivid late roses, forget-me-nots, blue geraniums, tradescantia, a carpet of pink cyclamen.

New singer–sort of sexy–at rehearsal last night. Though he had his own music, we had to share because, he said, he couldn’t tell where we were unless I was pointing at the notes. And, evidently, unless his body was pressing pretty hard against mine. Not a complaint. He was clueless about the printed music, but could match pitch and learned fast. We wanted to grow as a group, but all the growth seems to be among the basses, of which there were too many already. I liked it when I was the only one and could sing as lustily as I wished.