Day 97: Daily poem

I go down to the shore in the morning
and depending on the hour the waves
are rolling in or moving out,
and I say, oh, I am miserable,
what shall -
what should I do? And the sea says
in its lovely voice:
Excuse me, I have work to do.

       - Mary Oliver

Day 94: Morning song

Lying awake in the pre-dawn darkness, an explosion of bird-sing, then silence. 

Hsht, hsht, I imagine a beleaguered bird mother saying, hsht!  You'll wake the neighbors!

Both of us wishing for just five more minutes - five more minutes, little ones, hsht!

Day 93: A quiet day, with none of the pictures I'd planned to post

I was really disciplined yesterday and got caught up on grading.  I'm ready for class on Monday.  And that means that, even though there's always something I could work on (upcoming conference presentation, I'm looking at you), I am not going to work this weekend.  It's amazing how spacious it feels to have a largely unscheduled weekend. 

I got to the barn early for my ride, before the temperatures rose too much, hit the farmer's market on the way home, and the rest of the day was mine.  If there's one thing that single-digit humidity is good for, it's blocking things, so...

That's Adair, knitted up with Manos del Uruguay Serena (alpaca/cotton), in the Fig colorway (which isn't showing up quite right in those photos; I'll try to get a better modelling shot at some point).  I saw this at Churchmouse when I was there in June, and feel immediately in love.  I think it's going to be one of those really versatile shawls that can go with almost anything and get carried almost anywhere.  It's already dry - I just need to unpin it and weave the ends in and it's good to go.

I took a nap, treated my chickens to yogurt and raisins, and set myself up to spin and listen to On Being's replay of an interview with Mary Oliver.  (Which I recommend highly.  I may actually go back and listen to the entire unedited 90 minutes, it was that wonderful.  I also may have ordered her Poetry Handbook and Dreamwork.  For store pickup.  Tomorrow.  Oops.) 

What a perfect way to spend an afternoon.  Now pizza dough is rising on the stove, onions are caramelizing in my favorite cast-iron skillet, and I'm just waiting for Tess to get home before dinner.  I hope that each of you got to spend at least part of today doing something that felt expansive and roomy and lovely.

Day 67: axolotl

The NYT published this poem in its Magazine on Sunday, and I just loved it.


axolotl
   - ire'na lara silva

          little warrior
almost imperceptably
     scarred
from so much healing
          how many regrown limbs
          how many repaired organs
even precious
     brain tissue
          created anew
teach me this
          little warrior
how you remain
     tender and
infinite
          soft and eternal
          in the face of struggle
how is it the healing
     has already begun
          even before the wound

Day 63: A perfect quote

A friend of mine, upon hearing of Tilly's loss, just sent me a fantastic quote from Edna St. Vincent Millay.  I thought I'd share:

The presence of that absence is everywhere.

Isn't that the perfect way to put it?

Day 40: Instructions on not giving up

Instructions on Not Giving Up

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out

of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s

almost obscene display of cherry limbs showing

their cotton-candy-colored blossoms to the slate

sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees

that really gets to me.  When all the shock of white

and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave

the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath

the leaves come.  Patient, plodding, a green skin

growing over whatever winter did to us, a return

to the strange idea of continuous living despite

the mess of us, the hurt, the empty.  Fine then,

I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf

unfurling like a fist to an open palm,

I’ll take it all.

- Ada Limon

Day 25: Corona

Corona.  Progress

halts.  First gear not low enough.

Where good road trips die.