I’m not as excited to go home as I expected I’d be, but there’s always tomorrow. We’re headed to Portland tomorrow, and it’s meant to rain tomorrow, too. But it was meant to rain today and yesterday, and it didn’t.
The only time it rained was when we were in bed and wishing for a bit of white noise, that’s when it rained, when we wanted it.
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The only time it rained was when we were in bed and wishing for a bit of white noise, that’s when it rained, when we wanted it.
I’ve been taking videos lately. 15 - 30 seconds long of the ocean or the trees or Abby. I’m not sure what to do with them just yet.
I guess they’re home movies?
I’m a sucker for the sentimental and few things slap of sentimentality with as much force as home movies. Even home movies that aren’t our own.
I’ve watched home movies from when I was younger and those left a real feeling in the mouth. And not in a bad way.
Looking at pictures from just a few years ago has more of an impact than any art show I’ve ever seen, it’s not even close at all.
The experiences now have such weight to them. Part of that is that we’ve been told in movies and books and anecdotes that they do. Some things are sacred and these days are that and movies love to play with the sacred and the transparently important.
But I think Abby and I could be the last people on Earth, or the first people on Earth, and we’d know how good what we’re doing is in the same way a butterfly making it’s cocoon knows it’s good, or a dog burying a bone does.
Some things are important enough to transcend poetry or time or movies. Some things are Big and Good with capital Bs and Gs and the only real risk to them is treating them like they’re not.
