Still tired. Months of uncertainty taking their toll.
But, I’ve moved beyond Mamma Mia and Bridget Jones to take solace in paint chips and poetry.
So, tonight, an offering from Louise Gluck:
Do you know what I was, how I lived? You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.
I did not expect to survive,
earth suppressing me. I didn’t expect
to waken again, to feel
in damp earth my body
able to respond again, remembering
after so long how to open again
in the cold light
of earliest spring–
afraid, yes, but among you again
crying yes risk joy
in the raw wind of the new world.
The Wild Iris