"How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our life." #newyearsgoals #simplewisdom
 My default compulsion is to check the computer for any sense of connection and seeing what the distant world is finding joyful and noteworthy But today I broke free and strapped on my boots, choosing to march solemnly toward a forgotten love and the garden welcomed me wholeheartedly as I pulled and gnawed at the surface, massaging her tired muscles, digging to remove the knotted masses of clay and old roots and filling her anew with lost plants wedged under lilies and tucked in hidden corners Breathe, Garden! Breathe, me! Welcome Sun and Rain and Birdsong to keep company with this garden. And for now, I stay here to find my community in Soil and Weed and Insect and tweet about my work completed, happy with heuchera joy and pinks pleasure and hydrangea happiness  The squirrel chatters above my head
littering my papers with his house- cleaning debris while the bird, whose name I don't know (let's face it, I only know about 5) talks and talks to some unseen or otherwise mute neighbour or maybe he's talking to himself and slowly oh so slowly the angry words and rehearsed confrontations I play over in my mind momentarily become quieter, like that far-away dog's barking or the dishes clattering in that house over there and things get quiet enough for me, finally, to hear the Breath of my breath "You say you cannot
Prison beauty in a word, Ephemeral things are sacred So you say. You are afraid Of moulds; yet no one else Can say it better. Why not make moulds Of lovely words And pour the moment in?" - Doris Hedges Love it. Love when I have no words, there are some out there waiting to be found.  I stay on the path
the safe, the known the beautiful tree branches drape and droop to cathedral the footprints their interlaced fingers catching all the rising words sifting and sorting and recreating Scrabble-game of prayer A prostitute enslaved in the States
A 9 year old Ethiopian cut by her grandma A toddler with club feet A sex-slave of Cambodia 4 stories in 4 days Replacing the numbers with names And already I feel my grip slipping and loosing Unable to hold their stories and honour Their pain by remembering with them Nicole, Nkatha, Prinscio and Sarah Rehearse those names, Connie Press repeat again When complacency rises to engulf And self-centredness screams like a kid in a high chair Repeat the names Remember their story which is their life Those four |
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