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A heavy-scented, sweet-scented morning; walked seven blocks to the C train under a sky almost prematurely blue; read the letters (Vol. III)of D.H. Lawrence on the train. There’s something universal about spring mornings — the experience of them I mean, they can at least temporarily transcend any bad feelings or exhaustion or annoyance or despair. Even in the city — pasted over with concrete and macadam — nature seeps through, into consciousness (and unconsciousness). And that’s always seemed like the most amazing thing about nature, to me — its resilience; its superiority to human intention and design.
