Saturday afternoon, here and there, a heavy feel of magic all about. Shimmering through the afternoon air. After the big payout. Before the arrival of long-ago boxes. Paintings I cannot remember. Storage puzzles, box-cutting joys. Due Sunday.
One more Saturday note. Early Saturday in my Morning Pages – and doesn’t it always fall out from there – a surprise invitation arrived asking me to experience the month of June in an entirely different way. And I said “Yes.” Details hardly matter. If the creek don’t rise and I’m still waking the morning of July 1, nearly all the adventure will have expressed itself right here, day by day.
Sunday morning soundscape – Blue jay screeching as it crosses the street; a xylophone, a guitar, a family laughing out on the sidewalk; the refrigerator working; footsteps and dog paddings above; my heart beating in my left ear; every rock and roll song I’ve ever sung to myself.
The truck arrived from Idaho exactly at 8pm. Kalae and Aaron helped me lug boxes, paintings, bags of clothes, and the heavy wooden table I grew up eating dinners on with my family. I’d certainly forgot about honoring that piece of my history, which I’ve brought from one side of the country and back again over and over. As of this typing it’s leaning against a wall in the landlord’s laundry room. It’s a puzzle to be figured soon.
I remembered, and I’ve been saying, I’d left 25 paintings behind, but leaning on either side of the desk and the 80-year-old wooden sidewalk chest are more than 50. And, deep in one of the boxes I opened last night, a fabulous surprise of a large paper bag filled with my original art greeting cards, including envelopes. More on all that art to follow.
I have an electric feeling about the month of June.
from a mountain bench 
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