BEFORE YESTERDAY AND YESTERDAY

Cooder was on my head this morning.

"She loved to tell the story of her high-school civic teacher who always voted for Norman Thomas. Had the woman thrown her vote away? Not at all! She'd voted her principles. That's what mattered, not winning, not losing. In fact, maybe losing was better. Losing was honorable, proved you had principles. Winning was power. And power proved nothing but itself."

- Patricia Hampl, The Florist's Daughter

I've just been contemplative. And I continue to be so. Nothing is particularly wrong. I am not depressed or unable to function in any way. I am just processing, thinking, parsing various facets of myself, as well as possible avenues of action.

Today, I did some serious shoveling of snow. Not something a gal from Southern or cosmopolitan Northern California has to learn to deal with. The snow here this morning was quite light and fluffy, therefore being quite easy to shovel. I wasn't even going to bother until a Bostonian friend mentioned the lightness and ease of the morning shovel. I then realized that the more it melted, the more water heavy and slushy it would become. And there is some art to snow shoveling. There are some things to know like what direction is the wind blowing. And is the snow icy yet? 

There have been other things to think about, muse about in the last few days. For now, I am ready for a sleep. Great poem this morning.

In Betweenness

by Pierre Joris

is it a good thing to find 

two empty pages between the day 
before yesterday & yesterday 
when trying to make room 
for the blue opera afternoon 
of today a sunday like any sunday 
in may? 

there is no one could tell 

or judge though my own 
obsession with the in between 
should dictate the answer 
& thus let me rejoice at being able 
to insert today between the 
day before yesterday & yesterday
as if it were the yeast of night 
allowed these spaces to open 
(do not say holes to grow) 
in the spongy tissue of this 
my papery time-space discon- 
tinuum-- 

leaven of earth leaven of writing 

of running writing to earth 
in these in betweenesses that now 
please as much as the opera in ear 
that asks que dieu vous le rende dans 
l'autre monde but the desire is to stay right 
here in this world this in between even as 
the sound changes the radio sings son 
vada o resti intanto non partirai 
di qua 

exactly my feeling sheltered on these 

pages now filled and pushing up against 
yesterday