roses and tansies
I’ve lost a sense of being anything in particular that lasts for any length of time. I found fluidity which takes some getting used to but is actually nice.
I can preach pretty effectively sometimes. That’s a kind of gift right? My father was good at it. Really good. I observed him a lot. I had time in church while he was delivering a sermon. I remember the gestures, the expressions. And I remember the conviction. That seems to be the necessary ingredient.
I like keeping my own company. That is hard to balance.
No music these days…But lots of spoken word, particularly from Margaret Atwood and Lewis Hyde. I heard some Bach today, briefly. It was nice. Ah maybe my soundtrack are the birds. Yes, that’s where my ears go. The song sparrows. The Swainson thrush. The robin evening chatter. The crows going home.
the waves in the marsh grasses, the blackened tree skeleton at the river shore, the setting sun, the yellow yellow tansies being loved by the setting sun, the kids talking about manifestos at the end of the dock, the planes low overhead, the reminder that there was so much more before we stopped listening.
Dreams and Aspirations
a big world full of clowns and sages
an island of light around me. a darkened living room. the quiet passing of cars on the street. the screeching of tires, the hum of the city, the ringing in my ears.
clear and curious with moments of mosquito activity.
the first peaches of summer
So many. Alex’s living room. Munro’s kitchen. My mom’s garden. a little yellow trailer.
the forest and the marsh
One day I hope I can say anywhere.
SENSE OF AGENCY.