Avond

Avond. It's evening now, both here where I'm writing, in the small room over the back garden, and in the picture as well. One of those Berkeley dusks, when the shadows begin to fill, but still with distinct touches of blue. I don't know why this lamp, with its tilted shade, can make me feel so peaceful. Or the scatter of things in the smoky light on the half-dark sill. I've shown them here before--return to them again, like a mantra, if only in my imagination. The eucalyptus, of course, a big part of it. They've grown very high--my office is on the fourth floor, and their canopy is still full. You can look down to the walkway alongside Kroeber, where every once in a while a tiny bicyclist darts past--or someone walking, maybe to Strada, to get a coffee, or, done for the day, to Bancroft, for the bus. These rhythms, over many years...

How do the kids say it now, in response to almost anything, "No worries..."

All good...


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