
Perfect Days
In an ode to Wim Wenders, this morning I woke, checking myself in as safe and relatively healthy.
essays, conversations, and field notes on time, witness, and attention
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In an ode to Wim Wenders, this morning I woke, checking myself in as safe and relatively healthy.

I took the train to Ventura for a meeting.

For the last three days, I have written about Inner Space, Outer Space, and What Is Cast Off.

The Compost Guy

There are ten structures here, more or less, shacks and sheds and small buildings on less than an acre in the middle of town.

Inner Space

The cardinal is the state bird of Ohio.

Edward Lorenz did not set out to write a parable.

On my way home tonight I stopped.

She sits on the bench nearest the public bathrooms, and she is there every day.

CNN started their series on the Chernobyl disaster.

Part One of Four

The sourdough was still warm.

There is a photograph Marcela Taboada made inside the Discalced Carmelite convent in Puebla, Mexico.

The Carpinteria salt marsh sits at the edge of the Pacific, a remnant of what this coastline once was, full of cordgrass and pickleweed, tidal channels cutting through mud flats, the air dense with salt and the particular smell of things decomposing into fertility.

Paul John Dear wrote this, in response to yesterday’s piece on flow:

I have been photographing pelicans for years, and I have learned one thing the fast shutter cannot teach: a pelican in flow is barely distinguishable from the wave it rides.

The sand was wet from the tide and the sun was low enough that its reflection ran straight toward me across the beach, a second light on the water-darkened ground.

In August of 1844, Ralph Waldo Emerson stood in the Concord, Massachusetts courthouse and said what the legislators would not.

There is a difference between darkness and obscurity.