Sunday, February 17, 2013
The whole feast
I woke this morning at around 6:30, and in lieu of entertaining too-early thoughts, I finished Toni Morrison's book Home, which like all of Morrison's books is quietly lyrical when it isn't shocking, and when I put it back down beside my bed, I lay back and fell asleep in the grey light and dreamed of a baby, nursing at my breast and then I woke to blue sky and an implacable sun. The weather today is, again, astonishing, warmer than usual and knowing I'll offend, I feel annoyed by the pressure to enjoy it when I actually would rather sit inside and start up another book. Oliver is playing with the dog in the hallway, making her bark, she's a circus dog, he says when Henry shouts Stop wrapping that belt around her! and I tell them both to go outside for god's sake! and Michael feeds sauteed apples and waffles to Sophie. We are a fortunate bunch, I'd wager, the sun perpetual if weary, the books stacked up no matter, the dog a prancer, the whole feast.