Waking up and tending this site brings me back to a spring or summer morning when my most important labor is to tend to the berries and plants in my gardens. The effort is remarkably similar. The only real difference is the sustenance. I feed a different but no less palpable part of myself.
Today I added a Pablo Neruda poem, If You Forget Me, which I found myself listening to over and over again Spanish--a language I can only capture in occasional words and tenderness or passion of tone. I also added The Rime of the Ancient Mariner because it brings me back to my childhood where we had a big picture book that went along with the poem--and because I remember Mr. Faisson reading this aloud to our class in 7th grade.
I have not done much today. But I did enough to add some little something to something. The garden, I know, is much larger than this, but we all must start somewhere.
Today I added a Pablo Neruda poem, If You Forget Me, which I found myself listening to over and over again Spanish--a language I can only capture in occasional words and tenderness or passion of tone. I also added The Rime of the Ancient Mariner because it brings me back to my childhood where we had a big picture book that went along with the poem--and because I remember Mr. Faisson reading this aloud to our class in 7th grade.
I have not done much today. But I did enough to add some little something to something. The garden, I know, is much larger than this, but we all must start somewhere.