Rebecca and I read last night at the Seattle Center, which, if you think about it, is an odd sort of place to read. People wander around looking for FUN but the Fun Forest has been dismantled even thought you can still get cotton candy and fudge and a burger, carny eats. So the people peer here and there. Maybe they ride to the top of the Space Needle and decide that the Experience Music Project isn't TOO expensive and what the hell but there was parking and it wasn't raining for once and R and I trotted out to the outdoor stage where we weren't supposed to sit. No sitting on the edge of the stage. Why? Don't know.
So one of our audience brought two chairs so we could sit down instead of stand above the grass, silly really, but I ended up standing to read because I can bounce on my feet and wave my arms about and be more emphatic. Helps with projection or at least I think it does.
Was very happy to read some poems R hadn't heard before. I heard her snickering behind me and was so pleased. Poems aren't supposed to be funny, I guess, and so people put on their serious poetry faces and try to understand the deeper meaning. But a poem about terrible babies isn't serious, it isn't. And you can laugh if you want.
Rebecca read Henry Darger poems, so amazed to hear them, including barking out loud. And her last poem, O Chicago, was beautiful; broken streets and red light district and ruin and grace. I entered into her Chicago and I think I'm still there. Henry's Chicago. Not a shiny new city like the West Coast but an old city and cranky.
Today it's cloudy and humid, tropical silky air. Weeds love it.
On our hike a few days ago, Felix encountered snow for the first time. The trail was high enough there were big patches of old snow we had to cross. He pounced and slid and ate some and shied away and bounced back. Dogs never think about looking like fools. They are fools.