There’s so much going on that it’s hard to know where to look. If I focus my camera on the vultures wheeling overhead, I miss the carpenter bees zooming underfoot. There are crane flies mating and irises blooming and new visitations of wonder in every corner of the yard.
Marred by asymmetry, she is earthbound. Vulnerable and imperfect. Even on such a day as this, under such a sky, life is a painful, messy pursuit.
The day is beyond beautiful. How about a nap in the sun? Or a lovely, itchy roll?
How about a brief tour of the yard?
Along with dashing outside every ten minutes, I’ve been catching up and cooking and generally enjoying my day. What’s more, I received blog award nominations from Kathryn Martins. (It’s okay. Really…go ahead and click on the link! I’ll wait while you read a few of her posts. Or all of them. At least take a few minutes to meet her dogs.)
I tried to follow these awards back to their source, but never found a starting place. I think they are wonderfully mysterious. Where did they come from? Better yet, where else will they go, once I’ve passed them on?
They come with a few rules. I’m supposed to thank the person who nominated me.
Thank you, kathrymartins1! (There’s the link again, in case you missed it the first time…)
Then I’m supposed to say seven things about myself. Since I received these awards on such a beautiful day, I’ll say seven things that mattered today:
1. My father died of a heart attack when I was fifteen. He was fifty-two at the time of his death. Today I had blood drawn to monitor my cholesterol levels.
2. After my lab appointment, I made the mistake of stopping at the grocery. It’s hard enough to be sensible in the grocery when I’m well fed, but after a twelve hour fast it’s virtually impossible. Cookies, anyone?
3. And speaking of the grocery, at least I remembered the things that I meant to buy. The chili smells delicious.
4. I detest shoes. All shoes. It was such a relief, when I got home today, to confirm that it’s warm enough for bare feet. I’ll need socks, later tonight, but not right now.
5. I saw the yard’s first honey bees today. My bee-spotting abilities are directly related to my shoe aversion.
6. I want to finish my day’s work before dusk, because yesterday evening three rabbits played a hilarious, rowdy game of pounce and chase in the back yard. I’m hoping they’ll return tonight!
7. I want to be a writer when I grow up. Doesn’t everyone?
Finally, I’m supposed to pass the awards to seven other bloggers. That’s the best part! (And it involves more links!)
Seasonings – Just a Little Poetry by Betty Hayes Albright
Persephone Writes by Angela Cybulski (kathrynmartins1 nominated this blog, as well!)
Watershed
Really just a stream
What we called simply
“Creek” (in accent: “crick”)
Shallow rills for summer wading
Cold flanks of limestone spring
We ragged group of nymphs
Sisters of my youth
Bolted gaily, daily
Down the hills, pooled
Ourselves beside the bank
We harried crawdads from their dens
Gave silver minnows fairy names
We saw ourselves in damselflies
Molting toward our adult wings
While sustained by infant gills
What snakes we found in Eden
We kept all summer in our rooms
Their flicking tongues, feather light
Spoke nothing of temptation
We loosed them in the fall
As time loosed us one season
To gain the winnowed air
We gleamed in bright emergence
Damp jewels ferried on a breeze
Into brilliant scattered flight
Published in The Journal of Liberal Arts and Education Winter 2010
Reading as a Sacred Art
If the words said nothing at all
You would still read meaning
In the spaces between them
Feeling your way through tangled text
Pauses and pronunciation
Bend under your touch
Familiar words flex into phrases
As hard to know as a stranger’s yesterday
Anything I meant to say
Is obscured by what you meant to hear
And the words remain mute
Captive in the spaces between us
Unable to convey
What I am saying
And not saying
The words do not speak
If anything spoke
It could not be written
Muttering along the margin
Reciting in the tongue of Eden
The first rule of words
Which supersedes both our meanings
That innocence and truth
Cannot lie together
Now we understand
As long as we speak in Eden
Say rib and serpent and lost
What you hear
Was not written here
Could not exist
Until it was lost and found
In your own experience
And if the words said nothing at all
We would still need meaning
In the spaces between
Rae Spencer 