![]() ![]() ![]() No matter how careful you are, sand will stuff the creases between the pages-seven years after a beach trip during grad school, I still find sand in my copy of Delmore Schwartz’s collected poems. ![]() Bring a book to the beach and you’re agreeing to ruin the book. Reading is for armchairs and bay windows and loverless beds. If I was there with you, though, I would pull the book from your bag. ![]() You’re already hot, so why not be hot close to something cooler, like water? Close to where land-boring, predictable land-ceases to be? Why not go someplace where style writers won’t tsk you in the paper of record for dressing as the season demands? On a Saturday in August, you’ll pack precious supplies into a billowy canvas bag: the towels, the blanket, the hulking umbrella, the children, the snacks, the lotion, the bottle of wine, and, obviously, that book that everyone’s reading. Sometime soon, though, you’ll need a change of scenery. On the rare occasions you exit your house, you navigate the streets wearing the idea of clothes instead of the actual thing. The temperatures are climbing, and you’re spending your days snow-globed by air-conditioning or huddled beside a fan, forearming sweat from your brow. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |