April 9th, 2002

abstract butterfly

cloudfield

On the airplane yesterday, a Southern California mountain rose from the clouds as if the clouds were a white landscape, and the mountain an island. I wished I was standing on the treeline, just above the mountain, so that I could see the cloud from just above. On the flight back today, the swollen creeks cut through green fields, symbolic of something, evocative of everything.

I'm eager to get things done, to accomplish chores on my to-do list, and to make long-neglected health appointments. I'm ready to be ahead of the curve, and not slightly behind.
abstract butterfly

I daydream

I think about buying aquaria in which I raise scarlet platies
who proliferate among plastic green plants. I think of looking at the nebula in Orion with binoculars as long as my arm. I fantasize about opening a country museum in a forgotten home,
half outsider art, half a room of magnified protozoa, rotifers spinning, paramecia cilliating. I imagine warm April Saturdays with a plastic box of Canadian crawlers at the Park Hill Prairie, where the sunfish bite without special urging, and are replaced in the pond hardly the worse for the experience. I dream of auctioning books on ebay, checks payable to the local Friends of the Library. I see myself hiking the Verdugo Mountains once again, amid morning fog, watching lizards scurry, watching
spikes of agave (my lord's one true candle) bloom.