In the wake of today's news of the devastating earthquake and tsunami in Japan, I have felt a mix of emotions, among them a sense of gratitude that I lead a life of quiet desperation - that is, that it's quiet. It's not horrific, it's tolerable. That's a lot to be grateful for, given circumstances elsewhere for others. Another thought I have is the sense of wonder I often feel that for the most part, for most of us on this planet (I hope anyway), the way the natural world has been ordered seems on a manageable scale that supports life. The sun rises, and it sets, it appears or it doesn't and skies are gray. Somehow temperatures are, if not always comfortable, usually within an acceptable range - or at least within a range that makes life possible. It's never suddenly 375 degrees out, for example. We might get two or four inches of rain at a time - but it's not as though a typical shower is some outlandish amount, dozens and dozens of feet, say. And so today I found myself thinking about, and feeling chastened by the sense of usually wieldy scale, earth in its familiar commodious equipoise for the living (that is, in densely populated regions where the living in circular fashion tend to live) going completely out of whack, out of balance, rendering habitat uninhabitable. An 8.9 magnitude quake is the strongest in recorded history - it's almost literally off the charts. And seas don't as a rule rush up onto land swallowing everything in an enormous inundating wave. And so I feel very bad for the victims of this natural disaster, and at the same time particularly aware of and grateful for my quiet, uneventful, peaceful day, which has unfolded on a scale that is very lovely and sustaining of life. The sun has come out, it has felt like the first day of spring, neighbors have smilingly greeted one another on walks, even the geese seemed more chipper, bulb shoots are springing up, the snow is receding, spring is coming. We made it through. Winter was long and rough at times on the psyche, but we made it through. It wasn't always pleasant - but it was bearable. I will be grateful for things remaining this way. And I'm glad we don't live down by the creek. The creek is swollen and has swamped lowlying banks on either side, bottoms of tree trunks standing in water. The creek looks like a sea or lake, gray-green with whitecaps, not the bucolic meandering feeder to the Hudson. Even so - all, here, manageable.

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My dearest, just now the light here is so beautiful, at 5:30 p.m. Is it golden, or platinum? Magical, anyway, illuminating a peaceful quiet interior space, the aerie.

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I'm on the email list of the local international arts colony here and was delighted to receive a message from them - an invitation that led off with three words that put together, instantly filled me with delight. POETRY! WINE! FREE! You got my attention! It's for an event next Saturday, a discussion of T.S. Eliot's poem, The Four Quartets. I'm really psyched, for a number of reasons - yeah, poetry!+ wine!+ free!, but also I've never read this Eliot work, it's quite lengthy so it gives me a project to focus on for the coming week, trying to come to some preliminary understanding of it, and plus the event itself to look forward to next Saturday, which brings me one whole week closer to you, the jump from this rock to that one as in a shallow creek, an eternity made suddenly more endurable, time collapsing just as I'd like it to these days, though I will wish to put the brakes on it and savor every instant - next month (Love! Kisses! Darling!). Ah, but for now - Poetry! Wine! Free!

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Right now, as I look out the window of the aerie, dark gray cloudbanks merged with mountains, just past sunset, are rimmed with fire - that's a "ring of fire" that gladdens the soul. I see it, and am very grateful.

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I hope all is well with you, my darling. All my love, thinking of you always. XOXO