August 1, 2015

The miraculous night was not over when the sun went down. I walked out into the front yard to watch the blue moon rise over the trees, and fluttering over the grass was a luna moth, pale, huge, silvery in the moonlight, looking more like a Victorian painting of a fairy than an insect. It fluttered a long time before it took shelter in the hollies. What does it eat? I wondered, ready to scurry out an obtain whatever it was.

Morning I rose and went to Biltmore Park, to the Y, where Harry wanted me to take a Tai Chi class. I had not taken a Tai Chi class since his, twenty years ago. I went. His son Patrick was there. We gathered in a parking lot under tall hedges. Towhees called unseen from the hedges. Kent actually led the class, but Harry took a splinter class of beginners off to the side. I remembered most of it, though time had not improved my line. He is a good teacher, patient and thorough and metaphorical. I learn by metaphors. I am unlikely ever to return, but I’m glad I went. Breakfast afterward. A signal mark of Harry’s success as a man is that is son is kind and noble and without self-consciousness. I forgot we were not contemporaries.

Drove from there downtown to meet L and J for lunch. Ran accidentally into LEAF downtown, which was crowded and fun. I lingered as long as I could. I bought a paperweight which looks like it recedes into infinity. Lunch was compromised by their morose and uncivil children, which I wondered about, as they are anything but morose or uncivil. Passed through the carnival again on the way to my car, and was again joyful. Fasciitis lit up my foot at every step, but I tried to think of everything else.

Swore I would look at collected emails from school today. Perhaps I will and perhaps I will not.