I have seen many dead pigeons in my lifetime.
prosciutto and cheese from Mercato Sant’Ambrogio
Santa Maria Novella at dusk
the art studio has the best and biggest windows
November marks the beginning of the new olive oil harvest. My host father came home with a large Costco-sized jug of very green olive oil. The greener, the fresher.
The first time I went to London was two weekends ago. The moment I stepped off the bus at Liverpool Street station, I felt completely comfortable, completely at home, despite the grey skies, despite it being my first time in the city - and alone too.
Maybe it was the familiarity of hearing English being spoken again or perhaps it was just the comforting reassurance of being in a city again. Being in a city means being able to slip in and out of crowds easily; it means not feeling so much like an outsider because most everyone, is in some sense, an outsider. There is a temporary relief in the anonymity the city provides, in having the freedom to walk everywhere and hop on and off of public transportation, in being able to see everything and map everything out clearly, in having what seems to be the whole world (despite its exorbitant costs, especially in London) at my fingertips.
1.5 hours spent looking at Ai Wei Wei’s Sunflower Seeds at the Tate Modern. I only wish I had the guts to run out and step on all the seeds as one woman did.
much of the weekend was spent feeding my severe addiction to books(tores)
The night I arrived, I called my dad and told him how much I loved London. He replied, “I knew you would love it.” He went to school in England for four years. I asked him, “Then why have you been keeping it a secret from me all these years?”
my one outfit
from the top of the dome at St. Paul’s Cathedral, one of the most beautiful places in the world
our boat pulled up close to the cliffs.
we jumped out of the boat and dove in.
then the boat left,
and the girls and the boys began climbing the cliffs.
you could tell which ones were scared.
some held hands
teetering at the edge momentarily
before the fall
and others jumped impulsively.
you had to stand completely straight
rigid like a pencil,
hands firmly by your side,
feet hitting the water first.
if you flailed in the air,
you were done for by the time you hit the water-
and you knew while you were in the air
whether it would hurt real bad when you splashed.
from faraway you could tell
which were the good splashes
and which were the bad.
the bad ones sounded like they hurt
and they did.
you didn’t even have to look up
to see the person
climb out of the water
clutching his side.
Enjoys tea, men's magazines, memoirs, being in water, talking about the weather, getting lost in cities, patterned socks, sky gradients, art theory, home-cooking, and kind people. Subscribe via RSS.