like stained glass
Wednesday, June 27, 2001
I love this weather. It is electric and dramatic and warm and wet and weathery. It's Bay Area summer overcast rain cloud buzzy electric air with long slow drippy drops washing streets and sidewalks and leaves and buildings and the dry sunlight from my eyes and quenching a life, mine, deprived of rain for, what?, four months or so. And the clouds blow through, moving and changing, the sun peeking out and hiding again. It makes me aware of the passage of time, but in a reasonable way, nothing frantic.
Where am I? Seattle, Portland? I confess I have been so far entirely unsuccessful in convincing Ann that cities like these would be ideal places for someone like me to live.
This weather makes me want to go for a walk, stand outside, stay home and drink tea and listen to music and read, be quiet and reflect but also engage and converse. This weather is good for me. But I wonder how long it will last.
Tomorrow I fly to Minneapolis. On Friday afternoon I will be at the Walker Art Center seeing the retrospective of the great painter Alice Neel [one] [two]. What will the weather be like when I return on Sunday night? The same, I hope.
And because I'll be gone no flips until Monday, probably. Unless I find myself up past midnight near a computer, when I should be in bed awaiting my 4:00 a.m. alarm.
Say...
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