I’ll put the events of the weekend down here, although nothing very outstanding happened other than the once in a lifetime moments I get to experience every day. Those moments with seemingly no importance; sunlight filtered by pine trees, eagle against red canyon wall, flags waving in cemeteries, espresso art topping the downtown latte. I love this little desert Rt. 66 town in spite of its radical hippy culture, in spite of the dark starry nights, in spite of mild sunny weather every day, in spite of the green shaded parks, in spite of being thousands of miles from Georgetown and Union Square and Greenwich Village, in spite of everyone being laid back and friendly.
Harlan K spent the weekend with me here in Flag. Yesterday we went to Oak Creek Canyon, drove around Sedona, and had coffee at Macy’s on Beaver Street in Flagstaff—the place time seems to have forgotten in the creaky wood floors and tables and conversations that always are good somehow. The drive through Sedona and Oak Creek Canyon was absolutely spectacular as usual; thousands of other people thought so too, judging by the roads that were jammed to a standstill for miles around with holiday traffic a little reminiscent of eastern locales.
The rest of today I have not planned yet. Some remnants of the widespread western rain of the previous few days are moving through Flagstaff today in the form of fast-moving clouds and the occasional sprinkle of rain. My eyes keep drifting to the bookshelf and it seems like maybe I have a duty to spend the rest of the day relaxing in the library with a book or three. This strikes me as a favorable activity relative to the melancholy day and I am happy to have no greater obligation that might hinder this pursuit.