Equality, do you want it? You're not getting it for Christmas
Despite feeling especially weird and fractured and furious with a country and now it seems a state that would like me to die conveniently off (bureaucracy, finances, doctors, catch-22's), I managed to get out of the house this evening with ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch and a camera.
The heart of a clematis looks like a sea anemone. Or an alien.
Rose season gives way to daylily season.
A couple of roses are still giving their best Georgia O'Keeffe.
I could not manage to take a picture of these hydrangeas that made them look like as much of a Tiffany pattern as they did in three dimensions.
Remember last year when I discovered that we live across the street from slaveholding ground? There's the monument to prove it. History in this country is like tripping over a branch and finding it's bone. Six hundred acres of land and, to begin with, three human beings.
We walked on. We applauded this unknown plant at the end of Governor Winthrop Road.
The foxgloves were blueshifting.
The texture of the petals as much as their color fascinated me.
I am beginning to feel that my life has become a perpetual process of discovering damage I knew I had taken but didn't understand the depth of and I have to say it's a lot more wearying than any process of discovery has a right to be. My brain just stalled out this evening trying to assimilate the idea of people having loyalty to me. That's terrible. I'm not even sure it's Tiny Wittgenstein. It's just stupid.
spatch and a camera.
The heart of a clematis looks like a sea anemone. Or an alien.
Rose season gives way to daylily season.
A couple of roses are still giving their best Georgia O'Keeffe.
I could not manage to take a picture of these hydrangeas that made them look like as much of a Tiffany pattern as they did in three dimensions.
Remember last year when I discovered that we live across the street from slaveholding ground? There's the monument to prove it. History in this country is like tripping over a branch and finding it's bone. Six hundred acres of land and, to begin with, three human beings.
We walked on. We applauded this unknown plant at the end of Governor Winthrop Road.
The foxgloves were blueshifting.
The texture of the petals as much as their color fascinated me.
I am beginning to feel that my life has become a perpetual process of discovering damage I knew I had taken but didn't understand the depth of and I have to say it's a lot more wearying than any process of discovery has a right to be. My brain just stalled out this evening trying to assimilate the idea of people having loyalty to me. That's terrible. I'm not even sure it's Tiny Wittgenstein. It's just stupid.
no subject
You're welcome! And thank you. It feels extremely conventional to be noticing flowers in a time of mass mortality, but they seem to help.
I'm not aware of the history of slavery in New England having any memorials, while the spurious history of the Viking origins of New England has several.
That came up in a couple of my friend groups when the Columbus statue was first decapitated and then removed. The reason for the Leif Erikson statue on Comm Ave is another thing that people never seem to think about, which is fair, because it's nuts.