13 Comments

Love the rain descriptions. Ever since leaving MD for NM, I haven't seen much of the stuff. Especially related to keeping the windows open in the rain and resorting to towels. Same.

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I just read Stephen Bodio's QUERENCIA after having it on my shelf for years. Have you read it? It makes me want to make another visit to NM even more than I already did.

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That one's on my shelf too! Found it in a used bookshop in PA; I'd never heard of it, but it intrigues me. This is a good reminder to shuffle it toward the front of the pile. ;)

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No sir, but I've noted it for future reading. NM is still here, in any case. Here, I'll try to add a photo to this comment: https://jhfarr.com/wp-content/uploads/6220-ute-900@2x.jpg

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The cool of the evening is something I only recently noticed and started to savor. I used to be a cold person, always reaching for a sweater. But age (50s) granted me the gift of hot flashes, and now I'm broiled alive several times a day. The cool of the evening, or better, dawn, is like a sweet drink of water to me these days. Thanks for writing.

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I've always loved cool and cold weather. And yes, dawn is the best.

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"I don’t see any point in wasting time waiting to feel exultation." Amen again.

I appreciate the thought about not entering a least-favorite season (place, situation, chore, etc) with anger. This is something I work on too. I don't like [high summer] much, but can I accept it for itself, without piling a bunch of received emotions and memories onto the idea before it's even a reality? Some days. Your reflection is a help in this.

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Yes, it's the old "suffer once for no reason or suffer twice as much" adage, right? Often easier said than done....

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Once again, you stated well. This IS the only moment that matters, and all the singular moments will roll into the heartpocket and create the good.

I just really like reading your letters, Chris, as they give me pause for examining my own unpublished words.

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I'm happy to have you reading, Marie.

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The memory of the moment is for me as well when bird chatter and lemon flowers quiet me. It's not the wolves that are howling in the streets, The ones behind bars, or on hills wrapped in chain link fences- not those howls, aching and constant sirens Of wildness, of justice, of mercy, those howls I need like summer rain, it's not the howls that make it hard to breathe. It's the silence.

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Ah, yes. Thank you, Susan.

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This is beautiful.

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