Friday, January 15, 2016

WORN-HEEL GLIMPSES

Feels good to put up my feet; it will probably feel even better to jot this out and try to sleep. Scotch is entertaining herself until I crash and put out the lights. Although all three kittehs have similar collars and bells, I can always tell when it is Scotch headed down the hall. She thinks she needs to explore the top of my dresser for some reason, perhaps to admire herself in the mirror.



I did not sleep well last night, but managed to make it through most of the day. Patience is difficult to hang on to when I am particularly tired. Like a child, my mother asks obvious and lame questions a fair amount of the time. When I am not awake and moving on all fours, I have tendency to be very sarcastic.

I was sorry I was snappish and judgmental with her. I picked some marigolds and daisies and left them on her dresser.

I had a busy day cooking. The housecleaner was supposed to come but forgot. I was a little glad as I was in the mood to tackle some culinary tasks: using up the pears, roasting the butternut squash on the counter, making chicken stock and lentil soup. That’s a lot, right? I even got every thing in the fridge and did all the dishes. Most of the pears ended up in a pear tart kind of thing. There are some for making pear sauce tomorrow.


Emmylou, Scotch, and I hung around in the garden for a bit. I repotted some succulents while I spoke to KMH on the telephone. It’s great gardening weather. Hopefully, I will get some seeds going in the next couple of days. I included Tuscan squash in the lentil soup.

I PROFESS THE UNCERTAIN

I profess the uncertain
with gratitude

a man with large hands
and large feet
first looks at a pencil
then bring it close to his ear

he listens

the day lives briefly
unscented

skaken with worn-heel glimpses

becomes a shambling palace
with walking fishes
a yellow-roofed kindness

the almost untenable premise
that between counting one and two
nothing is lost.

— Jane Hirschfield, The Beauty, Knopf, 2015

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