A picnic in a slightly different place.

"Quotidian," "mundane," and "everyday" mean the same thing, pretentiously, somewhat negatively, and straightforwardly. When we're lucky, there's a lot of it.

Shut up and love.

*[added last paragraph] It's July, and next to a public trash can is a red and green Christmas tree holder.

It's July, and out of the open door of a house comes the sound of someone practicing "Angels We Have Heard on High" on a recorder, the "Gloria" part repeated.

We've gone a bit more than half way on our trip around the Sun since the last Christmas. Maybe there's an echo across our ellipsoid way.

Glory to God in the highest. Glory to the once and future us, across the squashed circle we move along, over there.

I have some pens with me close to always, but then there was this moment when I had none, and I wanted to write down some words that were emerging. I fretted and memorized.

Then I saw at the edge of the grass in the park a pink pen, which I picked up.

The first thing I noticed about the pen was that it was pink, accessorized with dirt color from actual dirt. The second thing I noticed about the pen was that it had a small plastic figure of Minnie Mouse attached to the top. The third thing I noticed about the pen is that it worked, so I wrote with it.

It took me a while to notice that this particular Minnie Mouse was carrying in her had a wand with a star on the top and that she had wings on her back. This Minnie was coming from the tradition of "I will make you wishes come true," and effectively for me.

They decided to meet in a quiet corner of some place theoryless.

If there is a mural that is a mocaic, a picture made of pieces of hard stuff, and if this mural is outside and near the level where pedestrians are, it is a fine thing to have some pieces of the mural be bits of mirror because then the mural moves along with the walkers.

Pretty and small and detailed and frequent--helping you on your way.

Unfold. The world is enough.

The order in which

**[New words in the last sentence after "spectrum of life.] This bus window I'm looking out of onto a bright blue sunny day has a line of water drops at the bottom, on the outide. Hmm. . .

I only use this bus to go up and down bits of 24th Street in the Mission and Noe Valley, but it's very name, the 48 Quintera, says that it goes, every time it dows its route, to the deepest, foggiest avenues. The part of 24 Street I ride up and down is sunny if any place in the city is sunny. The avenues are foggy if any place in the city is foggy.

So these water drops might be imported from the fog near the ocean of the avenues, and they are now turned into little bit of bright yellow by a crosswalk we're stopped above for a minute. They travel around the city, squising into water drop shapes bits of color from here and there.

I get off the bus and an eleven year old ahead of me gets off the bus and turns around and says "Bye, Lizzie! Bye, Lizzie! Bye, Lizzie" for a while with joy. She'll keep the beauty of Lizzie's exact place on the spectrum of life with her today as she goes on her rounds.

Some folks are eating better than others.

In general, fabric is more flexible and willing to change than people are when they talk about flags.

Could there be a musical called "Governance," the slog, and the prevention, and the breakthroughs?

Tap dancing on the way to "We didn't hurt each other today. Today we lifted each other up."

The Duomo, the Cathedral, of Milan has one hundred thirty five spires. New England churches tend to have one. Whichever you grew up around, it's good to know the other exists.

Poppies and lupines and you. Oh, California.

She was prancing around the sidewalk with movements that fit her age, five or six. As I passed her, I looked noticed she had the face of an adult woman living in a violent family, skin drawn with fear. Stop the war.

Doors, stairs, ramps, thoughts--let's go.

The invention of asphalt from the point of view of plants, from the plants' place of feeling.

The first time I noticed the Filipino-American celebration in San Francisco, I hadn't read about it in the paper.

I was walking down one side of Mission Street downtown, and on the other side, I saw a procession of people wearing complexly colored clothes, some of the carrying things like parasols with really long handles, that had streamers streaming down from them, also in beautiful colors. Like the dream of a city that's true sometimes, beauty that surprises.

Sometimes, I don't need to know what time it is in numbers. Sometime, I need to know time to move, time to rest.

There are fewer wolverines than there used to be. One thing to do about that is to be thankful for the wolverines there are.

Oh,darn, the newspaper tells me there's a good art exhibit about torture. And, oh, darn, it's at a gallery, simpler to to to than a museum. And, oh, darn, it's at a gallery I know the exact location of.

[The gallery name has two parts, first part "Paule" and it's really close to Market on Geary.]

Sometimes a person's got to rest. Sometimes resting has to happen. Sometimes a person can go out and meet resting instead of waiting to be tackled by it.

I knew that he worked at a law office, but I didn't know until I talked to him at the party that he loves the law--its grandeur, history, highest aims. Pretty cool. Some people who work at law offices are cynical about the law, so it's good to have people like him there to balance the vibe.

Sometimes there are steel doors flat with the sidewalk that open to something under the sidewalk but that are usually closed.

I was walking past doors like that and noticed they had on them graffiti that looked like two yin-yang symbols, but not exactly like--they had too many lines.

Then I noticed that I was proofreading graffiti and proofreading yin-yang symbols--two silly things to do.

Letting the moment be its own dear self.

Knowing you is learny.

I don't know, in general, but sometimes I know, but which times?

Don't see it. It's you duty to not see it. Right now, love is made of not knowing what's in front of you.

Maybe later you can know and love at the same time.

Are you animate? If not, why not? Walk.

If people say banal things on the bus in a language you don't understand, then you're relieved of hearing that particular set of banal things.

It is summer, and things are silvering up.

I wonder what anything is like, and I wonder how anything happens.

Snug with a hug and a mug.

The light of the sun is still the light of the sun when we can't see the disk all day. By the light of the silvery sun, we warm each other up.