Lots of worries today, not the least of which being the news from away: white sugar poured into water, phone calls from Glasgow, hearts being broken from a distance. The slow whine of a bobbin unspooling. Here in Montreal, the air is warm and ripe with humidity, the sun beats down, the water ruffles with wind; on the other side of the pressure system, houses are torn from foundations, people cower in stadiums. Try, despite all you know, to feel as though you're not unjustly on the winning side of a rigged, zero-sum game. Try, despite knowing this, feeling that we aren't all losing anyways. 


This evening, diving into water after a warm evening row with Dad. We never swam in the river as kids. It was dirty and messy and cold, not to be dealt with. Recently, though--since Claudia's death--I've asked my body to be okay with the cold; to glory in the shock and the eventual warming to it. Maybe it's a lesson in breaking inertia. Maybe it's just letting my muscles relax and be held by a different gravity. I like to hold myself there, letting the sky swell and take over, edgeless pastures of cloud. I could have stayed. It's nicer in there. 


Should stop writing these at night before bed; far too meditative, far too little fun.