the miracles are being unrecorded

song: winter summer summer fall, the postmarks
mood: intangible

winds are winding through blossom branches and we're holding our empty hands to snatch away the melting flowers! the glorious, lovely azalea-tree in the public gardens has carpeted the lawn in purple and forsythia leaves force past their lemon-yellow flowers.
these sunrise-sunset days are speeding by so fast. ruth was in halifax for the weekend and we had couch-curled afternoons with music, magazines and the stories that we'd missed. it is good for the flat to be more our place (minus melissa) than mine alone.
friday was an adventuring-afternoon: we wandered through shops and streets for the sake of each other and not just for the company. after coffee and comfy-chairs at uncommon grounds and cheesecake at dinnertime, we joined a punk-rock concert in parade square and sat with the duct-tape clad protesters. and in a flowerprint dress under the rain, i made friends with a black lab who barked in time to grunge guitar. later, with feet dangling over the edge of the dark harbour, we watched cold night cigar smoke & the wide reflections changing colour with streetlights in dartmouth. we will not forget the small and spontaneous.
i am settling in more and more and you will keep coming round here with hopeful eyes. but i am not hoping for this. today, an old woman told me all about the ways of the lonely. she said, "you're just a slip of a thing, you're a child."

when it's done i'll drink champagne to the lonely.

.

read: the assumption of the rogues & rascals, elizabeth smart
hear: at the finish line, jenn grant

yesterday morning, i stubbed the end off my baby toe. i was walking toward the livingroom couch, sipping a cup of tea & stepped into a coffeetable trunk we rescued from a rainy midnight curbside. at first, it hurt so much that it didn't hurt at all. i could only watch the shock-white numbness of my raw, discovered skin. then a seeping flush of pink and candy-apple blood to blot away with papertowels.

my worn-in shoes rub and i am thinking not to limp.

we're made of dreams and bones

mood: so much is stillness
song: on the basis, forest city lovers

finally i have words back to myself, and perhaps soon the photographs will follow. mum spontaneously jumped onto a plane and came to visit. we have had a wonderful weekend with brunches and breakfasts for us and found decorations for the flat.
today we walked to point pleasant park and sat on a rock overlooking the ocean. we talked and made a mosaic out of the mussel shell sands. some pieces are pink and white but most of them, most of them are blue. on the way home, we bought lobsters and fiddleheads and ate them for dinner.

ah, beh, veh

numerology and streetsigns

listen: paramour, john southworth


when stephany came over to visit this afternoon, i discovered i live at 1755 not 1577 vernon street. eventually, we found each other.

tomorrow is the sixth of may!

my lady lavendar, basil, geranium & anise-hyssop garden on the landing

finally everything has found its place and i'm beginning to find home. it's difficult to still myself after so much plane-ing and un-packing. i have two grinds of coffee and an impressive variety of teas in my kitchen. to celebrate the very last box, i bought two pints of dollar strawberries, terracotta pots and a bottle of good french wine.
it is quiet. it is quiet and lonely around the edges and i am happy. solitude suits watching, walking, listening very well. i am grateful for conversations with strangers, sunlight in empty rooms, the sound of your voice. i need to fill this place up with memories. so write me, call me, come visit!

i have yet to organize internet so blogging and emailing this week will depend on how often i frequent starbucks...

wake early so we can sleep in

listen: midi dans le salon de la duchesse, keren ann

the very first ride into paris is my favourite. in the early morning fragile, the only metro smells are sewer, cologne pressing against damp skin, cement. this is before you remember to anticipate the softness of chestnut blossoms, stale cigarettes, always dust and endless cafes. this is before you wake and wander rue mouffetarde cobblestones for pain and cafe creme. and monet's water-lily pond and water-lily paintings, a thunderstormy chopin piano concert in a small church. gypsy bouquets of mouguet for mayday!
we spent our last novel-reading day on a park bench in st-germain-en-laye, then we had dinner at the house where ernest hemingway lived and paul verlaine died. this, all this before packing bags, checking passports and beginning the long journey to home.