the summer moon lights my way

from dixie to a lake in michigan

IMG_1213my taste of the south draws to a close: fourth of july during the fireworks i walk the two blocks to the beach. the serene place i meditate at sunrise is packed like the lawn of a rock concert. they hoot and hollar after every explosion, “whooo! yeahhhh”. they push each other as they walk to where they want to stand, packed against whomever’s there: they feel like jello. cigarettes hang out of their mouths; the butts and empty cans are tossed into the dunes. i think of my bike rides to work where they, in massive pickups, honk their horns and yell at me out the windows. in this moment i get it. ah ha! – i love living on a beach, but this is not my beach: this is their beach and that’s ok. in fact, it’s great that they have a beach…

…it’s time for me to ramble on: an invitation to zen out at a lake house with a bestie arrives. and if we’re being real (we should always be real), hurricane season’s around the corner and i feel something’s gonna happen and i’ll have nowhere to go if it does.

the drive to michigan’s pleasant and introspective. i stop in ashville along the way. i like it there.

the cottage has been in her family for a hundred years. it gets the sunsets across the lake. the setting, the company, the turtles: all a delight. much of our time is spent relaxing – the rest of mine is spent wondering where to go and what to do next – chicago? wyoming? california? yoga certification? write the book? so many options. all the options. what me wonder? totally

listening to: jonathan wilson’s the way i feel (2011)

welcome to mercer house, mr. irwin

chatham county, georgia
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spanish moss doesn’t play for the camera. try and try to take pictures of her but it’s no use, she’s to be felt. savannah too. the old town and its squares, the gospel coming from the churches on sundays, the cargo boats, the dress and the dialect, sometimes i can’t tell if it’s authentic or retro but it doesn’t matter, things are the way they are and that’s how the south would have everything if it could. after a month in the city i move to the beach. i wake up and meditate by the ocean then go to yoga before heading into work at a six-table restaurant in an old house, it’s not bad – ice cream everyday

the baywatch movie is filming on the beach.

listening to bombino’s tar hani (2011)

reflections on the road to peaches

south into dixie
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listed five places from the map and moved to the first one that came back to me in conversation. proximity to the ocean’s the primary calling. is it really a move? on this drive, at this moment, i’m thinking: i’ll only stay long enough to taste
this year needs a bindle

the whole of golden hour’s spent watching the above house change colors. there’s nothing inside it. the tree in the photo above is as big and old as it looks.

listening to rhythm & sound’s mango drive (2001)

the main house: a palace

friends bought a farm
dutchess, new yorkimg_5062

the farm is and was a lot of things. 70 acres, two hours from brooklyn, neglected for decades. it’s rumored to have at one point been a roadhouse and a country retreat for city workers at another. it was a summer camp for zionist youth then a family’s discarded escape. the main house was built in the 1700’s, expanded in the 1800’s, and again in the 1950’s. some of the camp era bunk houses still stand with hearts and flowers and anti-‘nam graffiti on the walls. in its present state, it’s an evolving dream of what it will become. this is phase one

the suburbs are domesticating city life. lyme is the new mugging.

listening to bob dylan’s oh sister  (1976)