If, instead of calling ahead for the pizza the person who picks it up orders it when she gets to the restaurant, and if she brings a book and keeps her phone in her jacket pocket and the kids are not fighting at home about what movie they will watch, she may find a space that is near-sacred. This sequence of events may or may not have something to do with the fact that she hates making phone calls (still), even to pizza places. She may or may not call this planning ahead.
Friday, February 27, 2015
Thursday, February 26, 2015
It is ice-cold today (11°, sky-blue, bare,)
but I have found a patch of sunlight
to cover and warm my legs while I practice.
The heat stays with me when I get up—
while I light a candle
(tangerine and bergamot, mandarin and thyme)
partly just because
partly in honor of the moment,
in honor of being awake,
in honor of the chance to tease out
the meaning of what’s in front of me.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Youngest showed me this patch of chipped paint on her wall. She stares at it every night while falling asleep. It is a bat. In real life she does not have a good relationship with bats. But this one, she tells me, is a comfort, helps her fall asleep.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Mornings these days—I don’t know what to tell you. They’re faulty. Tired, grumpy, too often marked by lingering (or the beginnings of new) sickness. And you can’t tell by looking, but I have three times now deleted a bunch of complaining about recent mornings. Maybe I'll just let you imagine.
Every morning though, we get one of these:
and it's always a little different, and mostly we see, and sometimes we share.
Sometimes the sun will pick a single ice blossom and take the time to light it up.
It always matters.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Friday, February 20, 2015
Heard suddenly while walking: the softest rattle of leaves in the wind (oak leaves, clinging to their tree in spite of every kind of wind.) Not what I expected in this bareness of winter. The neighboring tree was an evergreen, whirring. This is the first time I've ever considered, maybe, that different trees might have different voices. I will need to listen more carefully.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
The last three years I “gave up” words here for Lent, posting pictures only. This year I want to try something a little different. The pictures were about watching and seeing and I want to continue in that vein, but with more freedom. So this time around I’m reserving the right to use words, pictures, links, whatever. The plan is to keep things simple: I’ll look, and I’ll share what I find.
This has been on the floor of my office for several weeks. It's a reject from a child's Valentine-making project and I don't know how, exactly, it got where it got. Now that it's in my space, though, it feels personal, and I'm leaving it in its found form for now. The fact that the holiday is over doesn't bother me. My Valentine's roses are still on the dining room table. The meaning remains. Happy day to you (love is gorgeous humble, slightly crumpled, not-shiny.)