The Petrie Dish

Each day I feel differently about where I am and what I'm doing. I've been reading a lot and writing a bit. I keep pebbles in my shoes to keep me aware of the fact that I'm on my feet--that I intend to be on my feet. Been doing other experiments and stretches, but no practices as of yet. Trying to individuate and juggle the various and constant sense impressions, forge a working definition of love, read omens, imagine scents without visual cues, closing my eyes to see what shapes and colors and scenes manifest themselves, etc. (etc., what a cop-out that is)

Working in the fields, between patches of vegetables and with the sky on top of me, I often feel as though I'm in an atrium or a snow-globe without the snow. The light is eerie in the morning and overwhelming by mid-day. A pony was born last night and it has longlong legs and is incredibly sweet. If I could understand the computer in Italian, I might have a chance at posting some pictures, but right now that'll have to wait.

I found myself thinking in Italian the other day when I was pulling weeds. I'm understanding conversations much more, and can speak without great pauses. My mind often runs away to the future, and I'm trying to rein it in. Yesterday, I climbed a fig tree to pick figs and then made a mitt from a dead cactus leaf and picked cactus fruit. Diego, the main laborer and work boss, is getting on my nerves, but he'll be leaving on Saturday. My pee smells like tomatoes. Or the tomatoes smell like my pee?

There are other things, too.