House:
Errands
Reading:
Kinwork
Lisa:
Love love love Zora Neal Hurston. "The sun swept itself across the horizon, months and weeks flaring out behind it." Or something, I was driving at the time.
I wonder if she and Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings knew each other at all: they were contemporaries in time and space and avocation, if not in culture. Isn't it pretty to think so. Although they wrote about rural life in northern Florida and flourished within decades of each other, I notice Hurston's language but Rawlings's geography--probably because I've listened to Hurston but not to Rawlings (when I read The Yearling to RDC I apologized for butchering the accent, and again reading Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry). I haven't read Hurston describe the dance of the whooping cranes but I have listened to her build a shack and plant a garden and lie on her back gazing at the sky over the St. John's River.
"Drenched in Light," "The Conscience of the Court," "Muttsy," "The Gilded Six-Bits," John Redding Goes to Sea," and "Sweat."