Things have been perfect - largely due to the fact that Ryan and I are both children of the woods, little creatures that need return to wet, green spaces where sunlight tapers through dense foliage rooves in patterns. I believe the decision has been reached between us to go to New York - in his case return - by the beginning of october (which isnt nearly as far as it sounds). If we go it will be by train, three days through the country and a few stops along the way. I am so excited for it, for everything. To pack picnics for the three day travel stint and curl under sleeping bags with him when it gets cold and watch the midwest clatter by. Excited to see his home and excited for his excitement (he took me on a googlemap tour of his old neighborhood, and of the places he wants to take me).
For now the prospect of it all even makes LA bearable to us, exciting again if only because we know we are not going to be stuck here too terribly long. We've taken to walks around the neighborhoods here, hours long, pointing out flora we dont recognize from our respective home states - he touches everything he passes, running his hands over the bark of trees and pausing, struck, in the middle of a shaded street to look up at the treetops above us. We have toyed, lately, with the idea of starting a joint nature blog, scouting nature in the suburbs and identifying things, describing them, photojournaing them, citing medicinal purposes or a plants place through history. It would be nice to compile into a book, too.
We come home after our walks and he removes the cut lavender and roses I've collected and sets them on tables, tied with bits of lace, while I warm spinach dal and brown rice and chicken potstickers for us, with cups of tea and diet orange soda (I like orange soda as crass as it is). We eat and watch documentaries on gas drilling and watershed polution, or ancient aliens. We listen to REM and Hole. He returns to his writing and I return to distilling rosewater, punctuated by our breaks between, I kneel over him and wrap my arms around his thin, sharp frame on the way to the bathroom or he leans over his poetry to kiss the middle of my back as I sew. We strip off our velvet blazers and velvet dresses and put on old tshirts and paint-stained pajama pants, and when he is naked he makes me feel like a Boticelli woman, all hips and round figure, comparred to him. All Venus on a clamshell. He smells like the rosehip or jasmine soaps I buy, and I find myself falling asleep on him now, when we finally go to bed together at dawn, comforts setting in for us finally.
(Gift from vic)
(an amazing care package from Rebecca Boyd) eans of organic food, pot, insects in resin, human teeth. I died the happiest death (and a death of granola cranberry overload).