Good and goodness/goodness and good.

It's seven a.m., and I am awake. I cannot even faintly remember the last time I was conscious at this hour, but my instincts tell me it was at some point in the mid-to-late ninteties. Stunning (and shameful). Regardless, for some ghastly slash lovely reason, I find myself eyes open and mind awander this morning. Candles strewn across the shape of my bedroom are blazing in the pearl gray light, and I feel even.

Last night I attended a book launch with my girl Meg. We slithered wine and (the goddamn smoothest) creme brulee down our throats, all the while listening enraptured to Miriam Toews share an excerpt from her newborn book. She is good, I felt good, we were good. Flung into an alcove where Meg's Menno blood knew everybody and their mother's grandmother's sister, I hung back and observed, happy to soak it all in. I am not Mennonite, but Mennonites fascinate me. I kid you not, within five seconds of us sitting down in the tiniest, homeliest corner of the cafe...I looked on spellbound as Madge was shriekingly greeted by every woman within a mile radius of us. I have never experienced that myself, but I will tell you that it is quite the spectacle to witness. As I was introduced to the Dorothys and Margarets, a genuine smile played at my lips. It was good, they are good.

In my early morning musings, I came across a Hungarian-born photographer named Andre Kertesz. I have never before been aware of his work, but I felt an immediate affinity. Perhaps it is his infatuation with shooting the city of Paris, but something resonated within my core when I laid eyes on these images. Have a go...

(Montmarte, 1927)





(Under the Eiffel Tower, 1929)





(Untitled, 1919)





(Untitled, 1924)


(Lion and Shadow, 1949)


(Self-Portrait, 1927)





(The Dancing Faun, 1919)


(Chairs of Paris, 1927)


(Mondrian's Pipe and Glasses, 1926)


Swift and unexplainable adoration. Immediate connection. Inspiration by the layer.

I've been homesick for Europe lately. By bones ache for it, my head flails for it, and my my spirit trails back to it...whimsical, lingering. This happens more often than not these days. I am trying to channel this longing energy for good in the present...for writing and conversation and laughter and hours of lacing throught.

The air snaking through my window is like cool ice, and I like it. I'd stay here for hours, I think.
Instead...its time to start the day...
Breathe in and out and over again.
Happy Wednesday.
Out/RB