Gray and the secrets of gray, this morning.

That's said, I see, too casually, since gray, for me, invokes winter, which is always the longest season, no matter how long it lasts.

But still, it's spring-gray that the day displays; it's a take-it-or-leave-it deal, the way it always is. And I, starving for more of this life, for every morsel of it, will, gladly, take it. For one thing, it makes me look more keenly at the light--and, just as I write this, I look over my left shoulder out the window at yellow sun! No. . .just a tease, the universe winking. Maybe.

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While I was writing this morning, a friend sent me a lovely poem to which he appended a beautiful photograph.  His timing could not have been more felicitous, for I was, with thanks, with the Muse, and as I read the poem, looked at the intense yellow of the budding flower, the warm, slowed-yet-busy-depth she brings deepened, the sure power of the tide I ride felt stronger. 

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Ah. . .I'm watching a squirrel come down a tree, thinking, He knows his work, what's mine, today? when another quick burst of sun flashed, then disappeared.  This is not just about patience; it's about the nature of truth.


 


Comments

Maria Giura
05/06/2013 10:51am

I agree with your "response" to your friend in this sonnet, EH. Of course it's all personal, the way we see, as in I see anything, already assumes the personal.



I guess maybe she's thinking about a topic like the one you wrote in KC recently about Saturday being the first word to really matter to you. In that prose piece, it's clear that the I is only you. Yes the I is you also in today's sonnet but it also can take on a collective I. I supposed that can also be true with the Saturday prose piece but there's less objectivity there. I think I might be talking myself into a circle here!



Anyway, I enjoyed them both.

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Allan DiBiase
05/06/2013 8:01pm

So many important and vital things could be expressed and communicated if we only explored the power of poetry more.

That May Sarton poem is one I have in a collection of her poetry. But it came to me this morning on our local internet Yahoo Board....where a friend of mine posted it as she often posts a poem. It pretty much got at the particular condition last night here in NH since we had buds and flowers on the trees yesterday and today on the way home it was evident that we now have leaves. Who was there attending?

But, then we are writing leaves of grass I think. In this way I think we are part of a project much larger than our selves, but, in which we have the beautiful freedom to participate.

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