hello, all--it appears my blog has been hacked? i've been trying for some time now to recover it, but have had no luck. any ideas? i'm afraid i will have to delete it altogether and start again, unfortunately. thanks to all of you for supporting my little page. i look forward to getting back into it again.

morgan

fig trees and summertime.

How shall I hold on to my soul, so that

it does not touch yours? How shall I lift

it gently up over you on to other things?

I would so very much like to tuck it away

among long lost objects in the dark 

in some quiet unknown place, somewhere 

which remains motionless when your depths resound.

And yet everything which touches us, you and me,

takes us together like a single bow,

drawing out from two strings but one voice.

On which instrument are we strung?

And which violinist holds us in the hand?

O sweetest of songs.

Rainer Maria Rilke

New Poems: c. 1907

a new york goodbye

   

I noticed that in New York, it seems the most beautiful when you aren't looking for it, when you're not going somewhere, or trying to find a certain place, or hail a cab, or grab a burger. It was when I had time to kill and just spent it wandering around, along the Hudson River, or in the cab on the way to the airport, just saying goodbye to the city.

sun still sinking

a little video from the other day at the beach, before i finish posting about new york.

sunset soon forgotten by iron & wine

new york city

is, well...New York City. I don't know that there's any other way to describe it. (gritty. and occasionally the tiniest bit wonderful.)

dog walks and the setting sun

The warm, spring-like weather here has been heavenly, and the pups have enjoyed their daily walks and trips to the park. Somehow, when I'm on walks with the dogs and forget to pay attention, I always (maybe not always) end up at the Old Jail (my favorite jail). Isn't it lovely and menacing all at once?

I appreciate living here, and I am grateful for Charleston, and how hard it tries to make me happy. There are still nights when I dream of bonfires and mountain bliss. Could I combine a little mountain town with Savannah, GA, and maybe a little of Charleston? I sit awake at night listening to Iron&Wine and can almost hear some semi-rural farm calling to me. Am I dreaming? I can see the sprawling acres, feel the summer heat slapping my face, galloping on horseback across the fields. The slow descent of the setting sun mixed with the smell of hay and barn dirt and the relief of a glass of water after a hard day of work. I could lose myself in it.