May 7, 2015

Yesterday one of those days of such mental agitation the next day is largely dedicated to not repeating it.

Sat in the yard in the afternoon. It is a sacred space. A bluejay came twice to a space in the maple beside me to feed on something he had found, something with a shell that he had to work at for a while.  I hoped I was so still he didn’t know I was there.

Went to a pottery shop and bought something I really didn’t want because the person who had made it was manning the store.

Enlarged the back garden slightly. 

Today has been far better. Painted. Talked at the studio with Jolene, whose life has become– I would call it a catastrophe; she calls it an adventure. After thirty years her husband’s eye wandered. She went away for a couple of weeks, and when she returned there was a new woman in her house. She is essentially homeless. But she has bought a trailer, intending to head south and find a new home, while overseeing the sale of the Phil Mechanic. One laments one’s solitude, until one sees the betrayal that can come from alliance.

Pitiful thin rain.

A titmouse carefully explored the corners of my porch, looking for a likely nesting site. She was quick and decisive. She did not find it there.

I sat in the café and wrote poetry, which has saved, for the moment, everything.