And so, my dear Salvador, led by the nose by powers we cannot comprehend, we have passed together, though separately, under the light of another full moon on this winding road.
This time, it was under the gaze of the Snow Moon. The name reaks of the kind of cheap romanticism to which, as you well know, I have an innate and incurable allergy—but in this particular case, it seems justified. Who would have thought that a ball in the sky could be so hypnotizing, and by its mere passive presence alone? The view just after sunset is unearthly; I almost regret not being a cat yet —not only to have nine lives but to be able to afford simply staring at that sky for half a day. The glow cast over the city buildings at night is from another dimension. It feels like a waste to go to sleep. One would want to wander in this light and take moon-baths, if not for the air temperature. It keeps romanticism in check as effectively as I hold my mug of tea.
The frosts brought a very vital light during the day. I had a busy Sunday in the role of a housewife (yes, I’m getting used to it), but between the nap and the pots, I hopped upstairs to touch the canvas for a moment. Watching the sunlight illuminating the ficus leaves on the window I liked those strips of light along the edges, where the light somehow clings more than it does inside the leaves. I’ve started a slight study of this situation, which I intend to continue tomorrow. I found myself missing one of those little styrofoam birds—the kind you used to buy, especially during the Easter season, you know, covered in feathers. I hope to hunt one down somewhere tomorrow; the tree would feel more complete.
That’s all for today. I’m attaching the work-in-progress status from yesterday, as I sit down to continue my reflections.
Still just an ordinary, happy life.