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This is Not a Newsletter

Most people have given up blogging. Reels are popular.

Subscriptions to newsletters are popular. There are fees associated with exclusive newsletters.

This is a blog. I keep a series of notebooks: journaling, reminders, words I love, remembrances.

Do I want to start writing on this blog again? Why did I blog in the first place?

Does anyone even read blogs? Or newsletters? I do love essays published on varies sites.

I read reflections. I especially love the literary essays. So what about the blog? Can it be an art form?

In the past I believe this blog was a threshold or a gateway into my writing. A way to think aloud.

Do I want to begin again? Perhaps.

So beginning: Two months ago I moved to the coast of Northern California. I am stunned every day

by the surrounding beauty: coastal fog, kelp, flowers that boom in the drought, surfers, sunsets. the

narrow road to our house, the light. Poems have yet to emerge but I know they are coming. I take

refuge in poems: this week lines by Mary Oliver, “wild sing the bird of the heart in the forest of our

lives” Each week we go to the farmer’s market where the strawberries, the flavor indescribable.

Carrots, tomatoes, peppers, sprouted walnuts. We are leaving in a few minutes. A new ritual of fish

tacos with spicy sauce before we return home to this amazing haven in the hills a short distance from the

ocean.

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