"Although the wind..."
By Izumi Shikibu
Although the wind
blows terribly here,
the moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house.
translated by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani
Although I've been quiet here, other places I've been not so quiet. Trying to listen and look and writing a lot. And trying to pay attention, even when there's bouncing from thing to event to moment. It is hot here after a cold spring. Why does the sudden, inevitable jump to heat wave catch us off guard? But that's not what I want to write about tonight. I've started other posts on other days. About process, about Lichtenstein. There's an exhibition of his sketches and collages, late stuff, at the museum where I work. It has me thinking about my writing process. Roy did stuff to shake up his process. He turned the canvas upside down. He cut and collaged brush strokes instead of painting them. So I was going to write about shake-ups. Then this afternoon my friend died. After fighting cancer for 4 years. She was young. With young kids. She was brave and determined. She liked to get to the heart of the matter. She liked horses and skiing and books. Cancer is a sucky disease. That's all I can say.
