I feel like I have been given a gift. A gift on a rainy late December day, following a night where sleep did not come for Ted, following 3 previous nights with little sleep for him. RLS is a bitch.
So, we slow down.
He naps in the day.
I paint and am given gifts.
Yesterday, it was the gift of a new-to-me poet: Clint Smith. I've listened to Krista Tippet's interview twice in the past two days......which is fine, because these berries are taking a long time to figure out.
NO MORE ELEGIES TODAY
Today I will
write a poem
about a little girl jumping rope.
It will not be a metaphor for dodging bullets.
It will not be an allegory
for skipping past despair.
But rather about the
back & forth bob of her head
as she waits for the right moment to insert herself
into the blinking flashes of bound hemp.
But rather about her friends
on either end of the rope who turn
their wrists into small
flashing windmills cultivating
an energy of their own.
But rather about the way
the beads in her hair bounce
against the back of her neck.
But rather the way her feet
barely touch the ground,
how the rope skipping across
the concrete sounds
like the entire world is giving
her a round of applause.
Clint Smith
Oh Hilda, sorry about your & Ted's lack of sleep, I can identify lol. This picture is going to be spectacular. The colors are amazing. Never thought I would want to eat out of the compost pail!