What a day and what a day was yesterday. I went to the Corte Madera Library and impatiens abundantly stretched and reached five feet down from overhanging planters. Then, inside the library, all the Corte Madera firemen were gathered and they were reading stories to children. No wonder children want to be firemen when they grow up. The shiny red firetruck was parked outside, and when, they left, they played the sirens. What a treat!! I went to Blackie's Pasture in Tiburon and checked out the bay there. The coots and grebes were prolific and bobbing together on the calm, silky bay.
I sat in the gazebo by the bay, dedicated to a child who died, Lori, a child of moonlight and sunlight. I thought of Mitchell, and the shooting star I saw, and how Mitchell still lives in each of us, and possibly other ways too.
I came home and dug in the earth and felt the microorganisms playing like fairies. I like making homes for fairies and that is what I did. I looked at the earth from the viewpoint of the fairies and planted bulbs and carefully placed stones.
This morning Jane wrote the following for her blog part of Connection Well, the social network we are creating. It is a beautiful way to begin the day.
For me this year leads to a significant birthday. Maybe that’s why I find myself opening up time for myself and for those things—like music, art, and poetry—that seem possible only on earth. Of course, who really knows? Someone, maybe Gary Young, said, “Death is tangible. It’s what comes after that’s unknown.” We could all be surprised afterwards by the music of spheres, the lights of galaxies and the breath between it all.
But for now it seems important to make space for art and the big questions. So my husband and I are taking one evening a week after dinner to memorize poetry. As the number of possible days left in one’s life begins to become imaginable, so does the number of poems one might be able to memorize. Choosing becomes significant.
When I was younger I probably would have chosen something like the Song of Hiawatha by Longfellow for its lengthy challenge, its rolling sounds and strange names: “...stood the wigwam of Nicomus, daughter of moon, Nicomus.” but now it feels important to learn things that might open up the door. Maybe Tennyson:
Sunset and evening star.
And one clear call for me
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea
A friend sends me an excerpt from the book “Answering Back”: Living poets reply to the poetry of the past (edited by Carol Ann Duffy (Picador). I think I’ll spend this evening with Crossing of the Bar and try to create my twenty-first century reply.