On the pulse

[T]he whole point of a journal is this seizing events on the wing. Yet the substance will come not from narration but from the examination of experience, and an attempt, at least, to reduce it to essence.
May Sarton's journals, The House by the Sea, felt like reading a long letter from a dear friend. I found myself comforted by her daily entries, the observations of the plants in her garden, her pet companions, vast friendships, her self awareness and reflections, and her dedication to her daily writing. She often writes feeling surprised in regards to young people relating to her work on the experience of aging. What makes her work so relatable is her keen awareness of the world around her, and her gratitude and presence in it.

Mainly, what I wanted to note about May Sarton's writing is this. Life is brief, like the Spring, and we don't need to wait until our youth and health is dwindling to appreciate it. The heart of so many creatives is this deep rooted appreciation and celebration of life and our experiences.

I'd like to end this brief book report with an entry from my journal.
Today has been an exceptionally warm day. All the pink hues of Spring have been replaced with luscious greens. Walking on the back streets among the mansions and gardens, I'm reminded of beautiful scenes from Studio Ghibli films. There are chipmunks and rabbits, and lilies of the valley, even pastel pink ones! I'm enjoying the remaining warmth of today on the balcony. On my left there is a family with a little girl sprawled out on a blanket. She looks at her mother's hands, occupied with something I cannot see from my point of view. I stand to try to see, but feel like an awkward photographer twisting for a better angle - so I stop. I watch the silhouette against the white shower curtain in a bathroom window, a man lathering his hair and body with shampoo. His hand reaches from behind the curtain to place the bottle on the windowsill on the opened window. Then the lights go out and on in the adjacent room, a figure moves across and slides into a new day. 

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