Heat

O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air--
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.

Cut the heat--
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.

~ H.D.


(This is what I'm always silently begging for in this seaside town...)

I feel like I've just tumbled out of a locked room. After regaining web access late last week, it went out again on Sunday and I've been unable to reconnect until today. There's been this strange sense of suffocation, especially since I don't have a phone. But on the upside, I have now reached p. 713 of Don Quixote (where the current adventure involves bearded women) and have high hopes of ending my long neglect of 400 Windmills by this weekend.

I also plan on posting a few informal words on some of the reading I did on break. Keep your fingers crossed!