and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
- E. E. Cummings
26.1.13
5.12.12
gratitude
At having parents who, when told timorously about plans for travelling with friends 'round country at two in the morning, react not with apoplectic 'What? How? Why?' but a matter-of-fact, 'Okay, you're gonna need a thicker sweater.' And Mater, of course, begins knitting one immediately.
At having sister who spies with merciful eagle eye injured dog in the rain and instead of walking on, bundles up in car to nearest vet.
At being able, despite infinite capacity to procrastinate and Carpal's wrist and a thousand, thousand excuses, to make some dough. At being able, in short, to remain relevant. =)
At knowing wise and lovely people who send in beautiful, thoughtful things every now and then, just because.
At having more reasons to love than to not.
At having sister who spies with merciful eagle eye injured dog in the rain and instead of walking on, bundles up in car to nearest vet.
At being able, despite infinite capacity to procrastinate and Carpal's wrist and a thousand, thousand excuses, to make some dough. At being able, in short, to remain relevant. =)
At knowing wise and lovely people who send in beautiful, thoughtful things every now and then, just because.
At having more reasons to love than to not.
3.12.12
rollin' in the deep
6 pm, Today.
Floating on back. Visible: orange-tinged nimbostrati against a violet sky; home-bound flock cutting diagonally across. Ears plugged with water, limbs limp, toes and nose point skyward. Except for sustained hollow sound of breathing, making its way through water, wouldn't know if alive.
Flip around and dunk head in water again. Commence swim. Water yields reluctantly, dragging at arms. First time swimming with long hair. Unfamiliar, this sudden cloud of black; blurring vision, stopping breath, curling around neck. Homicidal, I tell you.
Here, in this chlorinated, buoyant world, how nice to just surge forward like this. To breathe every three strokes (alternate sides), to kick gently but firmly (no breaking at the knees!), to remember from donkey's ears the tricks to optimal movement. How lovely to have instinct (and years of drilling) kick in and not have to think, to think.
Soon, fingers shrivel up, body aches, and head feels marvellously blank. Such prolepsis. Shall, not too long from now, be nothing more than prune, slave to demands of muscles beyond control. But while we have these things to own, let us endure as much as we can, yes? =)
Floating on back. Visible: orange-tinged nimbostrati against a violet sky; home-bound flock cutting diagonally across. Ears plugged with water, limbs limp, toes and nose point skyward. Except for sustained hollow sound of breathing, making its way through water, wouldn't know if alive.
Flip around and dunk head in water again. Commence swim. Water yields reluctantly, dragging at arms. First time swimming with long hair. Unfamiliar, this sudden cloud of black; blurring vision, stopping breath, curling around neck. Homicidal, I tell you.
Here, in this chlorinated, buoyant world, how nice to just surge forward like this. To breathe every three strokes (alternate sides), to kick gently but firmly (no breaking at the knees!), to remember from donkey's ears the tricks to optimal movement. How lovely to have instinct (and years of drilling) kick in and not have to think, to think.
Soon, fingers shrivel up, body aches, and head feels marvellously blank. Such prolepsis. Shall, not too long from now, be nothing more than prune, slave to demands of muscles beyond control. But while we have these things to own, let us endure as much as we can, yes? =)
22.11.12
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