Something of the ritual of sitting here in a small New York apartment and summarizing a country is invigorating. To have seen, to have traveled and moved over such great quantities of land---was thrilling, is a great gift. A year has passed since our plane left Europe and my willing-the-wheels-to-somehow-stick didn't work. The wheels stuck this time, and it was cool and blusters. We sat at the sidewalk cafe for breakfast that first bleary morning, and I wrapped myself in the blankets provided…
It felt like a fairytale, with mossy forests, tall waterfalls, and huddles of primary-colored cottages huddled above fjords. Being back with cool wind, low clouds and light, and abundant pine was a bit Scottish, and completely freeing. We rested, we soaked up the sky and the cliffs, and I ate shocking amounts of fresh yogurt and cheese. We are back in New York, and I sat on the couch watching someone make human-sized soap bubbles which floated over the park tonight. Being in Europe was…
Perhaps this is the point of this blog: to demarcate time into manageable plots. To say that we were standing here a year ago, and so we are today. We’ve lived in the city one year this week. Then, I woke up to brightness, light soaking our white, tall walls over and over. A year ago, light was painful to eyes that were familiar with grays and storm blues and purples. The horizon of the sea my eyes had rested on daily was suddenly vertical, glaring. Paint-dust fell on us as we slept on…