Wednesday, August 14, 2019

Writers and Water and Summer Still

When the moon is out sometimes I forget who I am and I just become the shape.

At this yoga class Emma and I have been trying, she sort of reminds us to forgive everything, and let everything sink into the earth, like the earth can take it. The earth is holding up everyone we know. I am not very bendy.

This summer I never really felt like it started and now it's ending and I'm not good with the endings of things, because I like everything so much.  I don't even like to go in at night until it's too dark to see because have you seen the light on the trees and there's still moonlight, we can still stay out

Just don't want anything to be over. Each day longer I get to live, the more I love everything.

I was reading Mark Twain in the pool, floating around, between all the talking people in my house, and the kids playing on the raft, Mark Twain said to let yourself wander like a brook, even if you curve around and end up sort of where you started, it doesn't matter, isn't that funny even, you thought you were getting somewhere. Definitely not the where to, just the babbling that makes sense.

I guess I'm seeing that as a writer you walk in the creek, and you write about what you feel. All that feeling isn't just hippie, it's important cause if you feel it you can tell it. Not everyone can tell it, which I don't understand. Maybe that's how the pro surfer feels, like just get on a board man. Anyone can do it.

Mark Twain isn't even a guy, just like maybe Shakespeare wasn't. Mark Twain is a measurement for steamboats, a certain depth of water. He named himself after something he just heard, every day, working on the boats. Because it came into his ears, and he recognized himself, and the water is romantic, and the measuring of water- ridiculous?

The creek bends back to where it started, and that's funny.

Sometimes I see the shapes in my life as image without the sound, like looking in the window and seeing Barry talking to the people he gathered today to talk about the theater they used to run and travel with - just the outline of him standing and gesturing, while I'm out in a wet towel from the pool. Or watching the girls frolic in the pool and not picking up my phone or a book just watching them wrestle each other off the steps and fall into the water and do it over and over and laugh, like the way summer is unending like that, with nothing else to do, and there's popsicles and you're 12.

I'm in bed and my toes are not asleep. The moon is making me laugh.