sunday

It took me forever to figure out what she was covered with, on her dress & hair. Turns out it was plaster from  hiding behind the shutters on this old house. Her forehead turned orange and we had to wash that dress again. I’m sitting here roasting tomatoes and reading. My feet are sore from walking up and down the hill. Its funny how hard it is for Americans to just be still. To sit for the sake of sitting.

We were coming home last night through the Jewish district of the Center – the roads wind endlessly and you have to pin yourself up against the wall sometimes to let cars pass. It made me happy to see little gatherings of families in the deep alleys. I like the shape of three Italian grandmothers on a bench all dressed in black. The children kicking, kicking, kicking a soccer ball against the wall.

I passed under an arch painted midnight blue with delicate gold foil stars, next door the bakery window was open and someone was playing piano upstairs. Last night, we walked through a temple under the Basilica San Clemente. We don’t know what they worshipped there, but maybe it was the sound of the spring water rushing underneath the masonry. The church bells ring above the smog, making the sound forever russet colored in my brain.

I miss knowing how to use kindness in spoken language. I want to help you find your way and ask how you are and soothe your child. I want to comment on the weather and the produce.

For now it is all light and gesture. Being both a part of it and not quite yet.

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