where softness meets urgency...

I am gradually becoming very ready for the land of heat. My current days lace by like river water; mainly uneventful, even, and significant only to myself. There are fitful injections of high/low that keep me in my skin, and aware of unpredictability. This is a good thing, I think. I never want to reach the point where I find myself too comfortable; too ingrained in my routine.

I lay in the dark cave of my living room late the other night in the absence of light, save for a scattering of my roommate's hazelnut candles (delicious) and the glow flung from my fireplace. The heat glazed itself over my body like a salve, calming me after an evening filled with voices layered and music waxing loud and bodies cutting around one another behind a starry-lit bar. And as I lay there, post-activity, post-crowd; the heat snatched me and pulled me into itself. I found myself wondering, is this what it might feel like to live in the throes of a more fiery climate for a little sliver of winter? I hope so. I want to feel that startling sense of calm in the limbs of my body and the beat of my heart. I want to eat fresh fish with my fingers for lunch, and dinner in the dark, and even for breakfast...and I want to do yoga on a quiet stretch of beach and I want to notice my ghostly skin grow a shade bronzer and I want to read poetry and foreign Vogue unabashedly and I want to write until my fingers ache.

The other day, during a session of ripping through my bedroom for god-knows-what, I came across the two journals I filled during my season spent last year in Europe. I dropped to the floor cross-legged, and read through lengthy bits of each. It was like being drawn into an alternate world; I came out of (what became) a sort of retrospective trance with a smile on my lips. I am eager to revive that edge of myself again come February; to again lapse into that inevitable challenge and lightness and joy of being apart and away. I am ready for discovery of an altogether different slice of the globe, and also of myself. I find that being away from home in that semi-permanent fashion allows the luxury of space for unique perspective. Even the prospect of it refreshes me. The nice thing about now, though, is that I have days like this one--sleeping in followed by the slowest of wake-ups, coffee at my fingertips and a walk to the Village in the biting cold sunlight. A lazy visit with the Paramix girls topped off with a steaming bowl of tofu veg peanut soup at Spicy Noodle House, book propped alongside.
Current complaints: none, really.
Days off are sometimes all it takes to feel yourself again.
Peace, etc.
RB