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Sorrow

So now it has our complete attention, and we are made whole. We take it into our hands like a rope, grateful and tethered, freed from wanting for it to happen. It is here, precisely as we imagined. If the man has died, if the child’s illness has taken a sudden  turn, if the house has burned in the middle of night and in winter, there is at least a kind of stopping that will pass for peace. Now when we speak it is with a great seriousness, and when we touch it is with our own fingers, and when we listen it is with our big eyes that have looked at a thing and have not blinked. There is no longer any reason to distrust us. When it leaves it will leave like summer, and we will remember it as a break in something that had seemed as unrelenting as coming rain and we will be sorry to see it go. -Marie Howe

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Hale County This Morning This Evening

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Our Navy dad grew up poor in Sarasota, Florida, and he reminded me and my siblings constantly of our many advantages. One afternoon, while I was sitting on the bait cooler reading Bram Stoker, he looked up from gutting a red snapper and told me, “Karen, the only reason you can imagine anything at all is because you have food in your belly.” I try not to forget this. If you’re afraid that you can’t pay rent, or buy groceries for your family, there is no surplus energy to burn inside a dream.

Karen Russell, “A Brutally Honest Accounting of Writing, Money, and Motherhood”

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August Kopisch (German, 1799-1853)

Untitled (Night fountain), N/D

Oil on canvas, 65 x 49 cm

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Simon Denny’s Power Vest 1, made from scarves owned by Margaret Thatcher, parts from a Patagonia M Down Sweater Vest, and down from second-hand garments found in San Francisco.