Today -

As I said yesterday, my father died 38 years ago today.   I check out Ted Kooser's poem for January 4th.  It fits.



january 4


    Four below zero.


    My wife took an apple to work
    this morning, hurriedly picking it
    up and out of a plastic bag
    on the kitchen counter, and though
    she has been gone an hour,
    the open bag still holds in a swirl
    the graceful turn of her wrist,
    a fountain lifting.  And now I can see
    that the air by the closet door
    keeps the bell-like hollow she made
    spinning into her winter coat
    while pushing her apple through a sleeve
    and back out into the ordinary.



May your dreams, both day and night, back in and out of the ordinary, and all that might be and is.