I took a walk at four. When I set out, it was day. When I returned, it was night. But all my steps seemed planted firmly in the in-between, where weirdness and ideas happen. It's cloudy and coldish in the desert and life has been a little too interesting at times this week. Often my walks are mostly about the mountains, which are, well, mountainous, unaffected by whatever chaotic skies are passing over, whatever chaotic scurryings below. The sight of them brings calm, but not comfort.
We're busy in the studio and I'm working on book projects as I can, especially inspired by Derek's (ReallyRatherNotNice) new work.
Happy Birthday to the Vanda Luna who popped inexplicably into my head early this morning, connected to last month's solstice. Remnants of a dream? Dunno. Anyway, Happy Birthday Laura!
This week I'm reading yet another offspring of The Edge. This one, What's Your Dangerous Idea? poses the question to many of the most respected 'thinkers' of various disciplines. The essays are short and readable enough to exercise the brain painlessly. Truly mind-expanding.
I've read several of these Edge books edited by John Brockman, as part of an ongoing effort to squeege that third eye of mine, still stubbornly cloudy after all these years.
No worries. It's the journey, yes? So many books---our walls are filled with them---have brought me countless hours of great joy.
Why haven't I made a 'reading' Poppet? A tiny autodidact. What was I not thinking? What's wrong with me?
Sheesh. So many Poppets. So little time...
Some of the Poppets for Valentines are excellently sweet. Some are excellently not. Now, I'm dangerously in the mood for dangerous Poppets. Go figure.
But first, chicken soup for the little constellation, who is down with a very mean cold. We're stocked up with soup, meds and otter pops.
Travel well tonight.