10.3.10

Sometimes the world is so beautiful that I can hardly stand it.

Today I sat with a group of starry-eyed kids as we learned an Igbo song about a little bird. I watched each child pound out a rhythm on a traditional drum and shriek at how pleased they were with each other. We rolled on the floor laughing together as they took turns trying on a mask, an exaggerated man's face twisted by tears, as they took turns making their best pretend sobs from behind this mask, this mask made in Nigeria years ago with the sole purpose of letting men know that it's okay to cry.

I came home just before dusk, walked around my neighborhood with my shoes crunching orange leaves like potato chips. A kitten tried to talk to me, tiny meows curling out of its mouth. The clouds hung in the sky, opal-ridged jewels, and the air smelled of cold dirt and woodsmoke.

Now I am home, eating a dinner that tastes like autumn (maple-curry-squash-wild rice-currant bowl), studying a painting I just started of what very well might be the last heirloom tomato of the year.

Sometimes I can barely keep it to myself, it's all so good.