Itβs easy to forget how much of what we are is determined by the fact that we are a body moving through space. Talking about the weather can be clichΓ©, but it also defines us, so talking about seasons, about how we learn to anticipate and deal with change, can be profound, like:
πβππ‘ π‘πππ ππ π¦πππ π‘βππ’ πππ¦π π‘ ππ ππ ππβπππ
πβππ π¦πππππ€ ππππ£ππ , ππ ππππ, ππ πππ€, ππ βπππ
ππππ π‘βππ π πππ’πβπ π€βππβ π βπππ ππππππ π‘ π‘βπ ππππ,
π΅πππ ππ’ππ’π πβππππ , π€βπππ πππ‘π π‘βπ π π€πππ‘ πππππ π πππ.
The rest of the sonnet is great, of course, you can read it lots of places (Shakespeare, Sonnet 73) while watching the sun and moon do their dance. Or watch someone on TikTok put an ice cream in someoneβs butt crack then in someone elseβs mouth, thatβs fun too, in a different way.
No food specials this weekend, weβll have snacks as the Bills stifle the Chargers and rolllllll on.
βBecause the world is my houseβ
Because the world is my house
I have lived among others
I have tasted other climates
I have returned to the tree at evening
on my journey over the earth
for reflection and unbridled rest
I slowly close the chain of travel
before my inside light sets in the west
β
–ShrinivΓ‘si, Trans. Scott Rollins
