This week has gone quickly, as they so often do. Stubbornly optimistic species of plant are now appearing from someplace magical under the frost-covered earth, appreciating the for-now imperceptible increase in light each morning, the lingering of it a while longer each night—it is difficult not to be a small size of optimistic when noticing such things.
(I thought that it would be appropriate to change the illustration in the header, as these days I seem to be consuming celestial bodies more frequently that I am cups of tea, and it's nice to remind myself of that.)
ON THE JOURNAL LATELY:
A poem by Jorie Graham, about the look of things being looked at, disappearing acts, and a book update for people who aren't you.
WORK-RELATED NEWS:
I'm now just over a third of the way through the illustrations for my new book, illustrations which seem to be coming together in a way I hadn't really been expecting—it is likely because there is an inescapable coherence when dealing with the universe, and whether you're trying or not, when looking at large thoughts for long enough, they begin to adhere to one another.
THIS WEEK I FELL IN LOVE WITH:
Oil-on-canvas paintings by Canadian Paul Saari.
The end.
By this time next week, all of me will be in New Zealand, a future certainty that still seems to be stubbornly unimaginable. The ease with which we can now throw ourselves, however calmly, about the planet does not often fail to leave me quite wordless—how small Earth is, how alternately rooted and un-rooted we are able to be, how much of ourselves we can find just by moving a little to the South, a little to the East.
Farewell, see you next sometime.
Copyright © 2018 Ella Frances Sanders, All rights reserved.