That's not how I feel--no no--but it's been stuck in my head all weekend and I was even singing it on the mountain.

I wonder what my future will hold. I rarely ever think about my future, as it's very consuming and much better for my personal sanity/happiness, I've found, when I absolutely do NOT think of the future, but I just wish I could see a little glimpse. How many more dance parties? Will there be children? Will there be many lovers or one special one? Country roads or city pavement? Will I be healthy? Will I grow very old? Will I become better at piano? Will I be a mother? Poet? Gardener? Photographer? Botanist? Mycologist? Yogi? Something wonderful and wholly unexpected? Who will I stay friends with? What will I remember? Who will I remember? It's exciting, as it's happening now. We're moving there now, what will be is all here now, maybe a sapling, maybe a seedling, maybe still in it's mama, but all that will ever unfurl is here already.
I want to cry just thinking about it.
There are so, so many beautiful people in the world and I have only yet met the teensy, tiniest percentage of them. I love this. I love talking to people. KAREN, HEY, YOU. I LOVE PEOPLE. Some more than others but, truly, I love every one a little bit.

For Lew Welch In A Snowfall, Gary Snyder

Snowfall in March:
I sit in the white glow reading a thesis
About you. Your poems, your life.

The author's my student,
He even quotes me.

Forty years since we joked in a kitchen in Portland
Twenty since you disappeared.

All those years and their moments—
Crackling bacon, slamming car doors,
Poems tried out on friends,
Will be one more archive,
One more shaky text.

But life continues in the kitchen
Where we still laugh and cook,
Watching snow.

That's it.


I promise I will talk about my boss next time, just not now. Because I know you're dying with anticipation for that.

-Camille