yesterday the sunshine came, a resurrection and a gift. I’m praying that it will come back tommorow; that tuesday will not feel the need to ascribe to the traditional wet apparel of the past few weeks.

picture from a few days ago.

I’ve only had a few moments in my life that I knew were moments I’d never forget. inane as it might have seemed, standing in the lenior kitchen, I knew that and took in every sensory element: the crackly sound of him reading poems over the tape recorder, the sensation of rain running down from my umbrella onto my legs, the color of allie’s lucky pink high-tops she lent me. the sound of vegetables chopping, the smell of the cookies; displayed on trays around me. I don’t know what will come of all this, only that it’s somehow important. for me. for the poet. for my professor. and maybe, in a visionary world, for everyone else.

things that bring me unbelievable amounts of joy:

1. lying on the quad: afghan, friends, sunshine.

2. reading walden

3. lifting my feet parallel to my handlebars as I coast down the hill to ram’s plaza.

4. my brown leather journal, beat-up with granola crumbs in the bottom of my backpack.

5. the voluminous gold cardigan recently purchased from the thrift store. large, ugly cardigans are to thrift stores what trashy magazines are to grocery-store counters. dependably present.

6. sigur ros, beach house, mumford and sons.

7. you.

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. From the desperate city you go into the desperate country, and have to console yourself with the bravery of minks and muskrats. A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind. There is no play in them, for this comes after work. But it is a characteristic of wisdom not to do desperate things.”—thoreau, walden