It's wet and the darkest of grays on the other side of my living room windows. I passed on the opening of a photo exhibition in the Mehgenerationenhaus today. It's a three kilometer walk and even goretex is uncomfortable on the city streets in persistent rain. I've got a couple of friends exhibiting and would have loved to see them, but it's is proving to be very comfortable here at Stone Street. I've got cookies and coffee and plenty to read. The direction the mind is taking is a good one, with doodles and sketches and a stirring of the wood carver's muse. Some days, just getting a word or two on the page is enough to frame a story. Some days, it's enough.
The intersection of certain memories when the weather is like this brings Neruda to mind, the gray beret and its time and place, cafes and theatres. One of the interesting aspects of mind is its ability to formulate vignettes on the recollection of a word or phrase, a scent or sight.
I like my mind and all of its peregrine wanderings.
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