Grand Central Station, NYC, 1941. The light does not stream in like this anymore because the buildings around the station are too tall.
This place will never be what I want it to be. Okay, I can accept that. It’s because of me, it’s because of limitations. But you know, so what? I mean, the shower curtain still has sunflowers on it. And that window in the bathroom? It’s the cheap plastic window version of a popcorn ceiling but it makes this pattern of light like a galaxy. And it transforms the streetlight outside into what might as well be the moon.
Pleasure Bay, South Boston.
The Coming of Light
Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine
and tomorrow’s dust flares into breath.
Eastern State Penetentiary in Philadelphia, Penssylvania.
Icarus at the Fuller Craft Museum. Brockton, MA.
The sun’s splendid goodbye. Franklin, MA.
Sunset over Millbury, Ma.
I was going for a drive and went a bit off course, completely intentionally. Then I came to the top of this hill and there were these homes perched on these vast lawns, much like you’ll see on the outskirts of many small New England villages. Some of the vistas were startling, though you cannot quite tell from this particular photograph, though you can begin to taste it. Much of Eastern Massachusetts is quite developed though you can still make out the glimpses of the old town centers and main roads and commons if you squint. However, head out to places like Millbury in central Massachusetts and you will begin to come upon the ways of were.
"By the end of the week she was thinking constantly about where her body stopped and the air began, about the exact point in space and time that was the difference between Maria and other. She had the sense that if she could get that in her mind and hold it for even one micro-second she woudl have what she had come to get. As if she had fever, her skin burned and crackled with a pinpoint sensitivity. She could feel smoke against her skin. She could feel voice waves. She was beginning to feel color, light intensities, and she imagined that she could be put blindfolded in front of the signs at the Thunderbird and the Flamingo and know which was which. ‘Maria,’ she felt someone whisper one night, but when she turned there was nobody."
— Play it As it Lays by Joan Didion
Sunset over Great Salt Pond by Rob Weir on Flickr.
This picture is beautiful! I have actually only went to Block Island once. It was years and years ago when I was maybe 10. My uncle has a boat (the innamorata of course) that has for most years been docked at Greenwhich or Warwick (though for a few years when I was in high school he docked it in Eastie, that’s East Boston for all you out there). We took the bout out to Block Island one day, it’s a pretty good ride, I don’t remember exactly how many hours. Unfortunately back then I had a much weaker disposition and caught motion sickness easily (thanks Ma!) and so I remember starting to feel really queasy. However, when we rode around the harbor and island for a bit I felt better. We never acually set foot on the Block Island but this picture sure makes me want to. Some people love Block and some people think there’s not much to do there but eh, you never know until you try for yourself.
Play of Sunlight, Los Angeles
Sir, your virtue and your great valor
and your eloquence had such power
that they freed my heart from another’s hand;
and that heart I soon hope to see
placed within your noble breast,
and ruling there and doing your will.
What I most loved I now despise,
and I no longer value weak and frail beauty
and repent of ever having delighted in it.
Unhappy me, who loved a mortal shadow
that I should have hated and loved you instead,
endowed with infinite, undying virtue!
The sea does not have as many grains of sand
as the number of times I weep over this:
loving frail beauty, I disdained endless virtue.
Sighing I confess my mistake,
and I promise and swear to you truly
that I’ll banish beauty in favor of virtue.
Longing for your virtue, I languish and die,
my heart freed from that evil chain,
with which the little archer god bound me;
once I followed my senses, now reason is my guide……
Veronica Franco (not the women pictured, she was a Venetian poet during the Renaissance).