How to Love a Wolf: light, May 8, 2020

How to Love a Wolf: light

If there is one non-material thing I wish I could imbibe and yet feel indebted to for being so tenaciously outside myself, undrinkable, and outside my human grasp that I am reminded gloriously, like a drum beat, of my limitations, it is light… Light, light, light. Change, always change.

I walked into my front room many times today in awe of the light. Just before sunset when the light was glaring—obscene and soft and feminine and erotic and glaring and forgiving; revealing; defending texture and transparency— from the open, sloping field across the street, I walked in and snapped these two pictures. The bouquet of flowers was a surprise from Kristina Fluty in honor of my first year teaching at Denison… What a friend, what a truly incredible human being. Endings are convalescence, I think, more and more, and I have spent hours with focus drifting into these blooms hoping to drink their effervescence into my nervous system with some tincture combining death and beginning again.

I turned around and snapped the mantle, where the light was just tenaciously itself, matter of fact, reflecting, pouncing on found and collected objects placed with the care of sorcery: dripping wax, glass, fading unkempt lilacs, and the witch puppet my sister Ann brought back from Prague.

It is no small thing to be seen in one's love of pink and one's witch nature.