Saturday, October 19, 1996, Bellagio

The sun is angled right between the two yellow sheets that I write on and underneath the notebook that supports them both —- so that there are shadows pushed up thorough the paper I’m writing on and I’m writing on shadows— but this is Italy and the light is so fantastic here—it is all everyone can talk about—the light— and I think of it as so different than a Montana light which is harder and straighter not having so many angles to reflect from, but what exactly it is, I don’t know about the light. . .but everyone talks about it.

Saturday, September 28, 2002, Ann Arbor

And here I am today in the Garden house looking through my old journals and finding this 

I’m writing on shadows..

I think of the shadows in the autumn fields of Simmern with Helga

The long dark shadows we made stretched across the dirt, yellow in the falling sun light.

And the shadows that I follow of women forgotten, Bena, Emily, Pauline.

My mother, of course, and her mother Hattie and her mother Lenchen, and her mother left in Germany with her daughter, Barenz.

This moody autumn day, when I don’t feel like doing anything.

Cleaned out the drawers in the front hall cabinet…talked to Debbie and to Jenny they both sound so good in Seattle.

I’m pretty exhausted for some reason.