Attention: attendere (L.), tenderness; attend: to turn one’s ear to, listen to

I am writing half an hour before nightfall. Before I awoke on Sunday, a mosquito kept buzzing in my ear, reminding me of dear Emily’s buzzing Fly. I awoke with the dawn, the sun having made its case rather nonchalantly this morning. Around 7:20 a.m., the sun cast itself upon room and walls and trees and all. It does the same at Grand Central, though there with far more grandeur. At 9 a.m., I had planned to speak with one conversation partner. The internet and land line had been down and quiet since Saturday morning, so I thought it might be good if I put my laptop in my eggplant coop bag and headed around the corner to a coffee shop. As it happens, she emailed me earlier about another day. I nodded my head and called another who was already awake, she said, but still lying in bed. Her voice began with a stretch and had that scratchy quality that voices have when they have yet to try themselves out. A brave one, she was not frightened by the caller who was phoning from “Escondido, CA.” In the early afternoon, I met a man who delighted in the Blushing Lady Tulips and who cradled the ears of the tulips with gentle hands. We ate cookies whose coconut oil became the perfume of the garden, the accompaniment to afternoon birdsong. As we sat, we turned our ears to this. As I write, I sit and look up at the clock. It is 7:15 p.m. and the evening light is clinging to high-climbing ivy and equally to paling, soon to be pallid sky. In a few minutes, I will sit and meditate and then speak for a time with another conversation partner living in ancient, dusky desert. We may talk about coercion, or so I suspect, and trace some lines of thoughts together from previous conversations. After the conversation, I will meditate again, then finish packing. By the time I publish this post early tomorrow morning, I will be sitting on a subway, then sitting in a cafe, then riding in a car. I will be on my way out of New York City as the sun reaches its zenith. By then, we will be out of the city and making our way toward the country. Soon after, we will be hiking on a trail that ascends to a cliff overlooking a yawning hollow and by nightfall, under aphotic sky and below the celestial sphere, we will be drinking wine from glasses shaped from the sand.