These are my couple of years to be kind of disconnected from nature. When I wrote my first novel, Girly, I was so plugged in to the landscape of my childhood in Chester County, PA, (now demolished for mcmansions) and the landscape surrounding me in Ithaca, where I was teaching. I would drive and drive and drive and just absorb the hills around me, the metal colored sky, the trees. It was so important to me--I can barely imagine really being able to write something, something big and beyond the bounds of everyday social realism, without huge beauty like that giving a boost.

Here in New York: not so much. Here in New York it is about nature in humans, about the big wild experiment of this city, it is about building a community starting here, with Cupcake. Still: I live near Prospect Park and can't imagine leaving this neighborhood, not because it's so great to hang out in Prospect Park, but because I sleep better at night with a big bank of trees a few blocks away.

Anyway: nature hasn't really wanted to be ignored the last couple days, hm? From under my covers, the wind this morning was such beautiful protest to the events of this week, the rain yesterday perfectly mirrored all our mourning.

Those fuckers. Just let them try to completely get rid of Roe v. Wade. American women will kick their asses for good.


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