The sun is just up where I live, so it’s up to me now. This new day, this new light, this unfolding of unused time. See it? How it slips across the dining room table and on out to the pasture? How is rides the backs of the sheep and the small grasses, the stillness? And on out the lane to the road and turning left and right simultaneously? This new day, this new light. It’s up to me now, no doubt. I can do whatever. I can pout, sing, walk twenty miles, I can do whatever. But it won’t always be thus. Because there is the coming of diminishment, the fact of my lessening, the same new days, the same new light, the same unfolding of unused time…but without me. Continue reading
just in after having set out 144 cabbages in a fine light rain, the rows straight, the cabbages spirited, and me, the day done, with just enough energy to cabbage on
Quetzal came skipping up yesterday mid-morning with both hands behind her back. She was glowing. “Which hand?” she asked. “Left,” I said. She shook her head. “Right,” I said. And so in slow motion she brought around her right hand and there it was, the season’s first, a perfectly ripe Big Dena tomato. We stared at it for a few seconds, and then she handed it off to me and we stared a while longer. It seemed like a new center of gravity, a small sun. Continue reading
Imagine if every adult in America sat on a rock each morning and listened or prayed or studied their ankles. 6 minutes, say. Or, to splurge a bit, imagine if every adult likewise attended each morning a garden of carrots and spinach. 6 minutes, say. What would come of 300 million folks sitting/gardening each morning for 12 minutes? 12 minutes with soul and earth only?
Art: Kerry Buck
I have the good fortune of living with a girl who acts out this kind of thing every day of her life: hanging upside down, jumping into ponds, slack-dressing the cat, hiding under the bed with a flashlight and two hamsters.
Pity me for not doing likewise.
So how is it that we come to filter our lives of every shade of upside-downness? Of trading in every free-form energy for some saltless formality? No undies showing, no bare feet, no dirty knees…
It’s a universal loss for all of us, I’d say, what with these 50 years living by rote and dreaming of riches, of sitting on our asses fattening. Far better to hang upside down and shout at a right-side up pig. Continue reading