completely at random

today i wear a raspberry-purple shirt and magenta fingernails. turquoise tank top and charcoal-grey socks. silver rings and bright eyes. today i am a woman, a sister, daughter, and friend. today the wind bites my nose and lifts my hair, and i'm part of the air that's moving weather and ideas from west to east. today i covet THIS:

new heart and genius from the noisy plume

today i don't look forward to tomorrow, for it brings the departure of he whom i love. of course i'm happy that he will have respite from everyday life and responsibilities and time with those who used to see him every day and now do not. of course i've made a social map of the week for myself and will be seeing some of my favorite people. of course. but of course i will miss him. so as a farewell, tonight we'll catch up on this:

call it what you like, but we like it.

today i continue to be changed and challenged by what i find here:

i suggest you see for yourself.

today i succumb to the circular (ever-widening) pattern of my thoughts and memories. the cooler air causes visions and phrases to rise with sharp clarity before me, on the road, in my dreams. i remember when i used to talk to geese. or rather, geese talked to me. i've heard many profound things from the wings of birds. i'd be a liar if i said i hadn't.

this morning i saw a man in a black coat on the sidewalk. it seemed a strange play of wind was moving the leaves at his feet, kicking them up in an oddly-timed shuffle. as i drove by, i realized it was his own jazz gait that moved the slivers of apple-gold in jumps and bursts and syncopation. he was walking half off the sidewalk in order to disturb the leaves for sheer play. and every time i rewind the tape deck in my mind (behind my eye) and play this scene again, there's a flutter in my chest, a yellow leaf spinning, the unmistakable rhythm of joy.

i am that girl, with micro-recorder in hand, roaming the continents of my own landscape and murmuring into the tiny metal grate of the microphone, lost for hours watching the minuscule tape spin and remember. every once in awhile i smooth my hair. i'll most likely look past you or at the ground if we pass. there is too much to tell you and no place to begin.

to know me you must read my letters, especially the ones i've written to myself, tucked between journal entries detailing my loves both lost and found. but i'll never let you touch them.

so for now, listen to the tapes i made. (any silence is intentional and should not be fast-forwarded through.) gather what you can and the rest may come with years. (there are mysteries in the circumference of my tears.) whatever is left is only for me to know.