travel = travail. Middle English travelen, alteration of travailen, to toil, from Old French travailler; see TRAVAIL. (ahdictionary)
A case against a type of tourism. (New Yorker)
“thy … argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen” (WS)
travel = travail. Middle English travelen, alteration of travailen, to toil, from Old French travailler; see TRAVAIL. (ahdictionary)
A case against a type of tourism. (New Yorker)
“thy … argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen” (WS)

Flowing, thin, and indiscernible
Wandering Through Landscapes curated by Hartvest Project (Carola Bravo) and Adriana Meneses.
Elisa Benedetti, Andrés Cabrera-García, Jefreid Lotti, César Rey, Clara Toro, Gustavo Acosta, and Adler Guerrier
An exhibit that invites you to embark on a captivating journey through the contrasting and different ways to see our landscapes. We delve into the essence of distinct yet interconnected worlds: the dynamic urban landscapes that pulse with vibrant energy and the serene rural expanses that breathe tranquility. South Florida’s unique blend of tropical allure and cosmopolitan life is a melting pot of diverse cultures. Through this exhibition, we aim to capture different visions, shedding light on the captivating interplay between those visions.
Adriana Meneses
September 10 through November 5, 2023. At Pinecrest Gardens, 11000 Red Rd, Pinecrest, FL, 33156.

Some faint impressions barely held by this arrangement.
“… some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end” – Eliot

What must be valued–spaces where … thought, sunshine, flowers, intangibles, necessities, time, freedom … are held.
“What must be valued
I’m learning,
in clarity and in error,
are spaces
where
feelings are held.
Here—in a poem?
And elsewhere”
– Jenny Johnson, Spaces
“Thought, sunshine, flowers: they wanted intangible as well as tangible goods, pleasures as well as necessities, and the time to pursue them, the time to have an inner life and freedom to roam the outer world.” (Solnit, Orwell’s Roses)
Untitled (A place to stand and stare; Aubade East–Today’s the day, I can taste it / This morning there ain’t nothing I can’t do)
Untitled (A place to stand and stare; Aubade East–then play the rest of the day / as it comes see where it goes / feeling good / feeling good)
Aubade: East by Rita Dove
Harlem, a.m.
Today’s the day, I can taste it.
Got my gray sweats pouting in a breeze
so soft, I feel like I’m still wrapped for sleeping
as I head uptown in my undercover power-suit,
bitch sunlight fingering the spaced-out tenements.
This morning there ain’t nothing I can’t do.
This is my territory, I know all of it—
ten long blocks flanked by mighty water.
Walking any Avenue is like riding
a cosmic surfboard on the biggest wave
of the goddam century, the East River
twerking her bedazzled behind
while sky spills coin like a luck-crazed
Vegas granny flush at the slots. Today
I’m gonna make out like a bandit myself:
hook up with my buds to drop
a few shots on the courts, ogle the ladies,
then play the rest of the day
as it comes see where it goes
feeling good
feeling good
somewhere over the Hudson
the sun heading home
via The Georgia Review, Spring 2016 and Playlist for the Apocalypse: Poems.

“And if a glass of ice tea and an anthology
of seventeen century devotional poetry
with a dark blue cover are available,
then the picture can hardly be improved
All I wanted was to be a pea of being
at rest inside the pod of time”
-Billy Collins, The Moment