30 June 2007. A Friday--April, June and November... Beautiful gray skies, my kind of morning. Massive cloud bank wedged over the hills at dawn, middle warm gray, sunlight pouring in to one side. Yesterday--much belated, learned of the memorial for Harvey Stahl... Doves in the afternoon, at twilight--a pair of them, chasing through camphor branches, magical hour. This morning, across the way--painter's truck, flatbed Toyota with low wooden siding, worn tarp held down with yellow rope. A rusted sign, slightly askew--stucco--nailed onto the back...
Like something out of Ovid--which story I'm not sure, the combination of volupté and doubt. Always that way--life surging ahead, trailing us in its wake... Nevins Street, the IRT...
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