May a slow wind work these words...

"On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life."

John O'Donohue

Last Day of Summer

"Where was the Summer?
Pears drop like drum beats
Acorns ricochet the roof."

Nashi

Dreams about Flying

Different wings each night.

Dreaming

This week, a series of dreams starring friends old and new. Last night Andy Clark made a guest appearance. In dream life, he's been in college all this time, taking one or two courses a year, volunteering at a theatre company and also learning ballet.

Another Overcast Day

September

"Situated within the shimmering golden leaves swirling on the black-inked vines of the margin are two subjects common to calendar pages for September. At right the zodiacal sign of Libra is shown as a man dressed in a blue robe and a green hat. He seems almost too small to balance the comically large scales he carries. Below, a woman cuts grapes from a vine and collects them in a basket. This is one of the labors of the months used for September, the time of year at which grapes are harvested."

Tonight

Growing Orbits

“I live my life in growing orbits
That move out over the things of this world
Perhaps I can never achieve the last,
But that will be my attempt.
I am circling around God,
Around the ancient tower,
I have been circling for a thousand years
And still I do not know
If I am a falcon,
Or a storm,
Or a great song.”

R. M. Rilke.

Thistles

"Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men
Thistles spike the summer air
And crackle open under a blue-black pressure.

Every one a revengeful burst
Of resurrection, a grasped fistful
Of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up

From the underground stain of a decayed Viking.
They are like pale hair and the gutterals of dialects.
Every one manages a plume of blood.

Then they grow grey like men.
Mown down, it is a feud. Their sons appear
Stiff with weapons, fighting back over the same ground."

by Ted Hughes

Cute and Cuter

A recent photograph of Red and Sox. They are too cute for words.

Thinking

"God made the world round so we would never be able to see too far down the road.”

Isak Dinesen

On the long ride back from Valley Forge on Sunday night I was so grateful for NPR's companionship. A program entitled "Hearing Voices" featured a profile of Isak Dinesen. I was surprised to learn that in addition to Out of Africa, she'd written Babette's Feast and that her life was so full yet so very difficult.