From Diary of a Tuscan Bookshop: A Memoir by Alba Donati:
“Ideas don’t just spring out of nothing—they smolder, ferment, crowd our mind while we sleep. Ideas walk on their own two legs, follow their own parallel path in a part of us we have absolutely no idea existed, until one day they come knocking: Here we are, they say, now listen carefully!
The idea for the bookshop must have been lying in wait, ensconced in the folds of that dark and joyous country we call childhood…”
I feel this in me now. A smoldering and fermenting. I can feel the tendrils of what IT is but not the details. Though I feel strongly that it will be done jointly with Peter. That it will be far more creative than I’ve allowed myself to be so far. And that it will be done by my hands, my heart and my mind. I also sense that it will take me places I haven’t gone before, expansively. Perhaps geographically.
Ten days into her memoire, Alba Donati opens a box of tarot cards called The Literary Witches Oracle. She draws Anaïs Nin, “the subconscious”, Emily Brontë, “fantasy”, and Jamaica Kincaid, “history”. From these, she gives herself a prophecy: we have to revisit our broken dreams, let our creativity run free, and realize our desires here and now, at this point in history.
I’d love to see what I’d draw. For now, I’ll borrow hers. And while I don’t hear a clear knock at the door, I hear two legs approaching. I am listening very carefully.
