6 June 2008. Sunlight everywhere, glorioso. Oso de gloria--the shining bear. As if out of the selva, loping gate, maybe with a fresh salmon in his mouth, straight from the stream, hungry, pensive...
Pine trees and palms. Truckee Junction and the highway north--after Norden and Soda Springs--the winding 89 to Sierraville. Cabin at end of empty road, storm windows and a ship-shape roof. Lingering smell of wood-burning stove, pervasive through all the rooms. Windows open wide to outside air. Gnats and flies in barn shadows, stillness.
Two horses near a long fence, wandering over to say hello. Or do they say hello? They certainly say something, slowly, though, with sloping shoulders and lanky haunches, nuzzling these strange new temporary beings...
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.
(from James Wright, The Blessing)
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