|The Hare Jumped Over the Moon - Jodie Tucker|
Stories was everything and everything was stories;
I was searching for the "gold tooth in God's crooked smile -
from "Searching for the Wrong-eyed Jesus" - BBC documentary about the American South
I warmed my bones in California where it was already July in May - gelato and firecrackers, open-toed shoes, air conditioning & sunscreen. When I left France it was raining & when I returned it was raining. It's been raining since November. My eyes burned on the way to Sonoma from SF airport; Hwy 101 has lots of potholes. Still shiny, but California's promised land feels depleted, like a canvas stretched and painted over too many times. They did indeed "pave paradise and put up a parking lot."
CARS & COFFEE - Everywhere
"Should I kill myself or have a cup of coffee?" - Albert Camus
I'm not used to so many cars - two lanes of traffic to my left, two lanes to my right; I felt like a pinball ricocheting across the asphalt. And you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a caffeine purveyor within a two meter radius. The mugs are huge; you could fit 20 teeny weeny French espressos into one Starbucks Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappaccino Blended Beverage (doesn't mean I didn't do my best to consume as many as I could.) And since everything else is gluten free and organic, it all works out!
Arriving at my Empress friend Dawn's oasis in Sonoma, she feeds me guacamole and bean chips. Since I'd spent the previous night half-asleep on Charles De Gaulle's airport floor, I was ravenous. (There had been a mix-up with hotel reservation). I don't think I've ever tasted anything so good.
I climbed into the big clawfoot bathtub & soaked away the travel cooties. On the guest room night stand was Stewart Warren's book of poetry: "Here There Is Also Burning" - poems of place and poems of ardor. In one of my blogs I wrote about Warren's book, "Pointing to My Heart: Poetry Journey through the Visconti Sforza Tarot," so I am thrilled at this synchronicity, finding a kindred spirit here.
It is the hour of the Wolf, between night & dawn, ghosts and demons. I am fried, but I scribble some notes which I won't be able to decipher later on, except for this passage which remained semi-legible from his poem Jemez, "...some happiness has descended or risen - anyway location is not what we thought. My hand rises without prompting as I'm reminded to wave at travelers, these holy shapes and forms, this grand migration of ours." With apologies to Warren if I have slaughtered his finely crafted words. Tarot threads in and out of his writing. There is a poem titled "The Hermit" & another poem, "In the Cards," references the Page of Wands - buy his book & you won't be sorry.
Next day in the early morning mist we take Maddie, Dawn's Jack Russell terrier, for a walk in the vineyards across the road to see the crooked armed grapevines pocketed on the sides of the rolling, golden hills of California. Hard squint & it could be France.