I was reading a online opinion piece and a sentence caught my eye. It came to my attention that once I had notebooks for these snippets of words that I kept. It’s been awhile since I used pen and ink to write down a quote. I thought this might be a place to start a virtual list…
October’s yellow afternoons smell of winter at the edges.
We tear at the days immoderately, like animals, and we wolf them down, hoping to fill a hole we see yawning ahead.
Christopher Solomon, In My Mountain Town, We’re Preparing for Dark Times
“The honeysuckle mornings of my childhood were in this book. Those many tadpole afternoons, where at eleven and twelve, I had lost all sense of time and sunk myself, bottom first, into some pond’s wet bank, reading Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys mysteries. The out-of-doors was where I had walked and prayed for mercy from the cruel mean world, where I discovered wholeness of silence, where all the genuine sounds and colors of my life were born. The great outdoors was where I disappeared into poetry, where I read my favorite poets aloud, where I did not have to explain my love for quiet or my most private, comfortable, outlier feelings, or my Black girl poet weirdness and eccentricities. “
— FOUND: A Finney Woman Reimagining the Great Outdoors
days that lean casually grunting
and snoring together
William Stafford, “Old Blue” from The Way It Is: New and Selected Poems
A blog without followers is just an email to yourself…
Vivian Howard, Chef
Weeks passed, and as they do, they turned into months.