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This afternoon I went again to the park but this time alone; I wanted to see the chesnut flowers up close. Their flowers are drying up, bursting open and pulling back to reveal tiny, bright, green, spiky chesnuts. In the area of the park where I was, the diagonal side entrance, the wind is strong and the ground beneath the castaño forest is littered with these marble sized wonders. With my fingernails I pinch one open, wondering it if had already formed it´s hard, inner surface. No. I was an intruder and performing a sort of early autopsy.
He´s always been faithful, He will be again. With the spring, with newness, comes the awkward shedding of skin. Becoming completely new is not easy, no one has ever said that it was. But we have seen these patterns before.
I am alone in the house this weekend and pretending it is mine, pretending that I do not have to figure out food, shelter, love, where to put my books in less than two months. Pretending I say! And so, I will be burying my face in the Reina Sofia exhibition catalog of Juan Muñoz (currently on display...I have yet to see it).
Been thinking about: Easter, regeneration, green, openings, the bending arches of trees and bodies and cathedrals, footsteps and cambios. Changes.
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