1. White-yellow light of early morning. I can see blue sky and the bern with its bent over grasses the color of blanched almonds.
2. I declare this to be a slow day.
3. I bake potatoes, caramelize onions and bell peppers, drink a tall glass of orange juice. They are quiet this morning. There are no complaints.
4. I move through the laundry faster than usual even with breaks for water and tea. I vacuum the loft and my bedroom and the house feels like it is glowing.
5. I tell myself that I should go for a walk but I am bothered by cramps and decide to put on real clothes and sit on the front porch to read. The air is till cool and if I'm not positioned just right, a breeze creeps up the sleeves of my shirt. But when the air is still I feel the sun warm my belly. There is the sound of their language in my ears, fighting with the words I'm trying to absorb.
6. As I read I circle the numbers: $1200, $1400, $500. 100 years ago these were the prices of bodies — black bodies. I think of my ancestors, what they must have been subjected to at slave auctions in Richmond and Charleston, in the Caribbean and elsewhere. I think about the terror. I think about how much imagination and faith has to carry you through to survive.
7. "What is it rising to? Once we know our lives matter, what are we going to do with them?"
8. Domaine Sigalas, 75% Assyrtiko and 25% Athiri from Santorini. Dalamara Paliokalias, 100% Xinomavro from Naoussa. The two, white and red respectively, a perfect pairing with our chicken with black olives, capers, and lemon with orzo dressed in the pan sauce.
10. We yell at the little one to stop talking but then realize that what we're hearing are two owls in conversation. And we're no longer annoyed but amused. I feel blessed. So much sacred owl medicine these last few weeks.