There are mornings when I wander back through the city, feeling something like happiness. It's not that the pollution has disappeared, it rarely disappears. And it doesn't seem to be weather-dependent, as I've noted this 'feeling' on drizzly misty mornings too ... no, it must be some random thing, like the stars aligning someplace else.
Perhaps it's partially about whatever I'm reading. At the moment I'm moving between C.K. Stead's novel Mansfield, and Piers Moore Ede's All Kinds of Magic. Both are rereads ... old favourites that live on the red shelves next to my desk here.
I also have Marsha Mehran's Pomegranate Soup underway ...
All these books probably say something about my state of being at the moment. I'm a little restless perhaps.
This month and the previous, I have spent time with the loveliest families, attempting to capture something of what I see when each of them come together.
Then Sunday evening I slipped into the abyss that is a Monday, 9am dental appointment. A broken tooth was involved and I was a bit nervous but my dentist ... she's the best that I've ever had and so there's always the confusion of catching up with someone I very much enjoy seeing.
It went well.
I'm transcribing interviews from those days spent in Italy. And processing photographs too. I'm cleaning and cooking ... and failing to cook and clean too. I'm losing and finding myself via books and good movies. I'm waiting to fly.
I'm back in Genova at the end of this month ...
Climbing that gate again.