November 22, 2011

My creative writing students have done their best work so far with short plays inspired by the prompt “the very fancy lingerie.” Four of them yesterday without overreaching, with wit and focus appropriate to their state of development. Any one of them would triumph in a festival of one acts.

Early morning BBC full of prophetic gloom about the exhaustion of the West. Confusingly, the pundits each blame something slightly different, though too much borrowing to sustain unsustainable lifestyles and too much money concentrated at the top seem to be repeating themes. Woke exceptionally early, even for me, and wanted something more silken to ease me into my day.

The cats pad after me even when their bowl is full. Love? Some need I do not understand and have not filled?

I watch the girls walking to school with their jackets wrapped around them and the wind blowing in their faces. They look so alone when they are alone, so vulnerable when there is weather or too much traffic or night is falling. I wonder how fathers can let them go, how they can refrain from hovering, from hiding behind trees watching to make sure everything is OK.

Even after days of hard freeze, the baby blanket roses push out bloom at the edge of the front terrace. Maybe enough heat keeps coming up from the street.