April

spring windows I, 2012

This time last year I was noticing lace curtains, finding it odd that they dressed so many urban windows.  I'd always imagined lace curtains in the country, but eyelet or calico would probably me more likely.  Calico, as we use it in the United States, the small floral print.  The print of cotton pajamas I wore in the summer, when I was a little girl.  There was rhubarb.  And there was the book of Wisteria I wanted to make, a map showing all the publicly visible spaces in San Francisco it grew.  Wisteria always leads me to Enchanted April, so it is fitting that it was and is April.  Conception of an idea is often more beautiful than implementation.  On April 10th Chris gave me daffodils wrapped in brown paper.  I thought about Alice, and wondered if the depths of darkness were better than the depths of anything else.  I wondered why so many thoughts were formed as snippets.  The second priority was fighting for first.  I searched for patterns, but found none I desired.  A section of April 6th proved to be as special as the blue hour and the moments preceding sunrise.  I ate Stilton.  There were butterfly cookies.  And some days were simply forgotten. 

This April has been different, although there were daffodils, and rhubarb.  On April 24th I saw a middle aged man with Tevas and a wide grin heading up a hill.  He was carrying a slim cellophane package of white cheese and one red onion, both in the same hand.  There was something very likable about him, and for now, he overshadows the rest.