"Art washes away the dust of everyday life" goal

...animals are rarely lost we are lost

as they are not we are the burrowers
in our own dark mud when oh the light and
so on not to be dark or obtuse when

the light is wonderful this wonder that
we should be so dark and lost and the world
was designed to be a home for us or …

A excerpt from Animal by Sarah Arvio

Recondita armonia.

yesterday evening (The Key being perhaps my favourite short story ever). This one’s called A Memory, and I liked these passages very much (the narrator is talking about her first love that is never expressed to its object):

I watched everything he did, trying to learn and translate and verify. I could reproduce for you now the clumsy weave, the exact shade of faded blue in his sweater. I remember how he used to swing his foot as he sat at his desk – softly, barely not touching the floor. Even now it does not seem trivial.

I lay there, opening and closing my eyes. The brilliance and then the blackness were like some alternate experiences of night and day. The sweetness of my love seemed to bring the dark and to swing me gently in its suspended wind; I sank into familiarity; but the story of my love, the long narrative of the incident on the stairs, had vanished. I did not know, any longer, the meaning of my happiness; it held me unexplained.

There’s something… of gravity in those last lines that does it for me, but I can’t formulate what exactly it is that happens that does the washing away of the dust of everyday life.

how wonderful it is when this happens. I’ve had a dusty kind of a day, and now feel bright and refreshed and alive again. Reading three poems was what it took. _{And a humming-bird reference.}

but it’s the best photograph I took in New Zealand last December. I love the shimmering light deep inside the tree trunk. I’m a bit covered in the dust of everyday life at the moment, and need to remember the magical and the beautiful.

take care of this more.

I recently acquired a great photograph that does this, and I’ve read more poetry lately than in a while.

But I miss my literary salon. I think that good art might help me to think and live and feel through my life at the moment. I need to read and watch and look at stuff that’s greater than my tumults.