is it a squeal of brakes is it a birthcry
Horribly grumpy after the cancellation of wimmy time due to inclement weather. Walked up to the Folk Art museum and spent the day looking at Indonesian puppets and huge arrangements of international bric-a-brac. So amazing on so many infinitely articulable levels. Sun drizzled a glow over my cheeks and nose and shoulders on the walk home. Spent the afternoon tooling around the apartment barely dressed, eating popsicles, writing and sending postcards, brushing Murray and mulling. This is the moment of stillness and quiet before my life becomes unrecognizable–big and gorgeous and new. Does it sound too fever pitched to say, the moment of silence before the birthcry? I am trying to figure out how to use it, and what for.
