Today was spent inside. Inside the house, inside the car, inside the waiting room, inside the magnet, inside the car again, inside the house again. The nurse said our molecules ordinarily like to dance. When we near a magnet, they stand up straight. The tension can be felt strongly enough so that a non-invasive procedure actually seems penetrative to the core.
At several points today I sat by the open window and noticed the breeze, felt the sunlit glass, watched the graying clouds, listened to exuberant boys outside, thought of the dirt under the grass. But it was an utterly suburban enclosed day and in the end, those were just thoughts; nothing came in contact with flesh.
We’ve had an amiable dinner. Six happy faces who all agreed to eat their peas and salad. It’s dark out and I’m tired. It would be okay to lay in the grass and count city stars; that doesn’t take long assuming the clouds have cleared.
In looking for paintings that make me think of January, I found this still life by Indiana artist Jay Bastian. It’s cool and warm and simple and brightly bare; exactly as Florida January’s. Even golden things cast a blue shadow in January.