Armeria maritima var. californica, 2011
transcribed from my Moleskine, shown above:
November 20, 2011
close to 7 AM
I am 44 years old today, officially in about an hour.
Again, my dreams were filled with wild cats.
The sky is a white tending toward a very light grey tending toward the lightest of blues. There was a little rain, but it has stopped, for now. The tree branches on the east side of the house wave, the branches on the west side are still.
The heat is filling the glass house, the sun is rising, and I sit here upon the Jetsons-style sofa taking it all in through transparent walls, documenting with sleepy hands and thought patterns.
Chris is asleep.
I believe I saw our grey owl again, but he disappeared into the trees before I could confirm.
The large moth was searching for light in the kitchen this morning while I poured my first glass of sparkling water. We've been drinking sparkling water exclusively because the orange-tinted tap water, although promised to be perfectly fine, does not appeal to us.
Yesterday Chris suggested I give the large moth a name so he would seem less menacing. He thought Bernard might work. I agreed. Bernard has now followed me into the living area. Last night Bernard was in my shower. I think he likes me.
The heater pauses and the cold sets in quickly.
This beautiful home was not constructed for heating efficiency. Understood. This is California. But there is quite a chill up here.
The local paper leads me to believe the National Park Service will reclaim this land, along with this glass tree house, in April of next year. What will the park service do with a glass studio perched on stilts, accessible by small tram? A meditation space for rangers?
I think I'll crawl back into bed.