There were more bird embryos this morning! They’re no longer hidden away in the blooming weeds, but nestled right on the asphalt’s edge. Will this be akin to that season when squirrels seemed to be committing mass suicides along our highways and byways? Spring’s feeling endless. Could all our rhythms be off?
The wide skies feel like a blanket at the moment.
I like to dream up journeys. For many years I’d scurry away after Wednesday deadlines to hole up in a Maronite monastery in Massachusetts to write, to read, to get lost in thoughts. Just get away. I still spend time each day checking flights and hotels on Expedia, Booking.com, or simply whatever pops up on Googlemaps. I double-check names on Wikipedia. Three-night getaways for the family, with dog. And occasional longer daydreams, complete with real-estate searches and scribbled budgets. As soon as my son or wife asks me what I’m thinking, I can substitute a new destination.
A cloud’s closed in on my dreaming. Most places aren’t even listing prices any more. Will airline tickets cost more with fewer seats? Will my son or I be able to handle an entire flight with my glasses steamed up by a face mask?
We take our daily drives. I walk a bit further along local paths each day, looking at what I’ve passed over in case something fresh pops into view.
I’ve been reading classics. Or trying to. Made it halfway through Saul Bellow before it felt aged and snarky. Am now learning to read behind Henry James’ convoluted sentences to enjoy the acuity and warmth of his observations, and his complex characters.
We take advantage of the moment and line up futures next to the past.
They say thunderstorms are coming before everything opens up like an early summer. I’m looking forward to watching, then stepping out into a tempest.
Read more installments of Village Voices by Paul Smart.
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