Leaf Shape, Poetic Inspiration and an Unruly Tendon in Everyday Ramblings

I took this photo a few hours ago. I was wandering around in the dark last night trying to get in a little last minute activity before the end of the day and I spied this tree. None of these huge hand sized leaves are falling yet, they have just turned this gorgeous yellow and hang over the sidewalk, all tear shaped or diamond shaped or however shaped one would describe them.

Late this afternoon in the midst of an unexpected and most welcome sun break I went back and took this picture.

This morning after a few weeks of dry and more dry and crumpled crinkled crackly leaves everywhere we had this heavy mist ground level fog that made it like night even after dawn and everything was wet.

Including me walking, to church, to the gym and home again.

Even though the track is lovely in the low light and surrounded by what trees that will turn, turning I just couldn’t take it anymore. I am listening to this huge novel about architecture and the war and Europe called The Invisible Bridge on audio book. Miss A, my Weight Watchers leader recommended it. Her husband is an architect. The book works for working out. Although I sense there will be great sadness and injustice to come.

I tried two other audiobooks this last week, the beautiful haunting book about Chechnya, A Constellation of Vital Phenomena and the heart breaking but so painstakingly written memoir about having a husband, an amazing accomplished husband who has a stroke called One Hundred Names for Love. I will finish them both but neither is good for exercising to.

I just finished reading in actual hard cover book form, The Blessing by Gregory Orr. It is short and remarkably selective and I found that fascinating. He just wrote about what he wanted to from his very difficult past.

A wonderful license this gives me to write about only what I want to in my memoir about my time with Mr. Finch. This isn’t autobiography. This is like riffs or essays or snapshots of moments that build the whole of a deep and abiding love and friendship.

I read this absolutely to me, hysterical review of a poetry “critic” and his new book in the New Republic this morning. It is called The Poetry World’s Most Indiscriminate Fanboy. It seems that in his new book, Stephen Burt (who I have blessedly never heard of because I don’t have an MFA or a PhD in poetry or literature) writes about how there really isn’t anything to write about when you are happy and living in suburban America and about cross dressing.

And I love this, the book is supposed to be a sequel to The Merchant of Venice.

Orr certainly didn’t have that problem. There was enough strength and wild dysfunction in his life as a child and a young man to give him ample opportunities to tap into some of the deeper veins of human experience and emotional response.

I have this interesting yoga teaching challenge that is preoccupying much of my mindscape. I have a student who comes to class late and throws herself with great zeal into the poses without a proper warm-up. It turns out she experienced the tiny tears in the tendon that attaches her hamstrings to her derriere that is commonly called “yoga butt” a few months back and is now babying her hips and hamstrings to compensate. She always wants to work on balancing poses.

I have designed a class for her this week that is all about preventing the injury in the future that I will teach to whoever shows up but I also think I will ask if I can have a private half hour with her to talk about class structure and how if she is going to miss all the warm ups maybe she should be doing another practice instead. Or what to do to protect herself from not having warmed up.

Having had “yoga butt” a number of times I feel affection for her for trying. It is an injury of trying too hard, and it is quite uncomfortable. She gets bonus points for coming back to class after experiencing it without understanding why and how she got there.

It will be an interesting lesson for us both.