Spring is a slap to the senses — go out, be happy, live! — now that the light stays longer there is cause for wide-open eyes and heart that billows out to any body of water. The tree that you have been watching all fall, all winter, in the school lot, giving out on hope that its perfectly formed branches will awaken with lime-green murmurings — yet it happened overnight, pushed out buds like tiny babies no one ever cared about, in a small rural town in Delaware — I pretend to possess the stealth of waiting, wistful-faced treading slowly on asphalt, on my way to the car.
Inside the chapel at Girard College on Martin Luther King Day, with the Philadelphia Orchestra and CAPA high school choir.
Negative space drawing: eraser on charcoal background
Night gleaming by. Brick, concrete, lights lit and unlit, continual pantomime of red to green. The dance of the inanimate which evening tempers into the empty city after-dark. If you focus on the negative space the objects which claim it lose their urgency of presence. They connect where no confluence ever was. If you pedal harder the wind draws further into you.