Wednesday, August 04, 2010

I like the way we translate and re-maneuver, noting that the ice in this iceberg if melted could run the Nile for so many years, that the sand over here could fill this many Grand Canyons, that this many marmots standing on each others shoulders could go to the moon and back so many times. How everything could fit into everything else in unexpected ways, just to make sure we understand size and scale and monumental importance.

I like remembering the feeling in the Naples underground, threading through dark tunnels and caverns, cold and strewn with years and years of debris, and finding a tiny greenhouse growing plants with spotlights and the air's own humidity. Finding all of the forgotten places and growing new things in them.

This weekend our light turned hazy and red, making all of our movements slow and dreamy and soft. Fires from somewhere else staining our skies. I walked home, stepping carefully along sidewalks thick and slippery with fallen fruit. Plums, maybe, staining the sidewalks purple, warm to the touch and then staining fingertips. Everything just a little bit less than real.

Last night we would have seen the Northern Lights, if they had only leaned down a tiny bit further.

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