A parcel arrived from my sister. It contained fabric samples, in every kind of red and a few more colours besides, of shot silks and velvets and chenilles, tapestries and brocades and even a Morris print (Brer Rabbit, in red and hemp). We ran our fingers over the textures and drank in the colours, a perfusion of joy.
Red silk and velvet notwithstanding, we struggled with difficult things through the morning. At lunchtime we ate slice after slice of good white bread and butter, and some chocolate spread, and felt much better.
A warm blade of sunshine falls on an especially deeply coloured lemon in the fruit basket on the windowsill, making it glow, and scent the air with a perfume of lemon oil. Kennst du das Land …?
A perfect spotted cow under a small, top-lit, cumulus cloud.
Rilke on Rodin:
I realised immediately that his house meant nothing to him ... it concerned him not in the least and placed no burden on his loneliness and composure. Deep inside himself he carried the darkness, refuge and peace of a house over which he himself became the sky and the surrounding forest, the vast expanses and the mighty stream that always overflowed.
( From Lou Andreas Salome's memoir, translated by Andrea von der Lippe)
Photo: in the laundry.
I liked the way the sun through the laundry room window passed through Molly's old striped bed cover and lit up the plastic laundry basket. The photo was much crisper and more literal than I saw it, so I played with the editing until it looked more like I remembered.