not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Sunday, May 25, 2014

2 days

day 1

wandering into meadows
eating sweet grass, buds of sugar maple
drinking blue water
time proving itself in the body




no matter fear


life is good



day 2

wandering into meadows
eating sweet grass, buds of sugar maple
drinking blue water
time proving itself in the body




no matter fear


life is good



11 comments:

  1. And I will say about the world,that is looks ever more arresting through your eyes....

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. oh, manik, it simply is arresting. i have nothing to do with it.

      xo
      erin

      Delete
  2. Replies
    1. deb, james and i came upon a porcupine one day on a walk through the woods. the next day up a forest road we found another that had been struck by a vehicle. actually, this spring we've seen more porcupines than ever. or we are paying more attention than we ever have before. either way, both porcupines were beautiful.

      xo
      erin

      Delete
  3. Life is good ... and I cry. Because. From. Out of. In spite of. Under. Inside. Above. Beneath. Around.

    This is how we vibrate together. <3 <3 <3

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. ruth, you interrupt yourself. or life interrupts you and cuts you short. yes. just like this. and we cry. and it's good)))))

      xo
      erin

      Delete
  4. an injustice that must be righted. and to think that it was just this morning that james found this poem! oh, this woman should be read. this woman is read, but i didn't know about her and for this i am sorry. but now ... now i know her and must share her.

    pattiann rogers

    Scarlatti Sonata Testament

    Listen . . . all white foxes, all white owls, all snowy
    silver geese. Attend . . . all casual fish holding on
    in the icy beads of a silver current. Snow leopards,
    white bears, silver baboons, mottled white mice nosing
    at autumn seeds . . . pause in unison, lift your heads.
    Still your wings and heed . . . silvery blue moths fluttering
    like flakes of moon. Long-haired, spike-horned goats
    on precipitous cliffs, white spiderlings floating
    mid-cloud . . . take note and remember. Each barb
    of every feather, every black-tipped ivory hair, every
    luminous scale and fan-like fin, each knuckle of spine
    and nail, each red drop at the pith of the marrow
    at the root of all glare and mettle, every breath quiver,
    every one, every single one, is beheld and declared.


    xo
    erin

    ReplyDelete
  5. Yes! Thank you for Pattiann Rogers. I did not know how her, and now I do thanks to you and James. And for this attention to all the important things.

    ReplyDelete
  6. this post made me again and again to get into the heart of the forest, into life ,and death and fear.and i find out inside again this life that we forget that is so sensitive and powerful also, so complicated till a moment when the silence is even more strong that the breath. i'm thinking now at a special stilness possible only in a shadow of a big and dark green

    ReplyDelete
  7. miriam, i find it very curious that you should mention fear. i do not feel fear in any regard to this post and so i wonder if it is real fear or an expectation we have manufactured for ourselves? it is a very curious thing. and i have written another small post in response to your comment about an orchid and fear ... perhaps i'll post it at noun some time.

    i think what you say of silence is infinitely important. it should be the church we sit inside of most often. or at least i agree with you in this way. and how gorgeously what you write comes across in translation, the "special stillness possible only in a shadow of a big and dark green." green being a definitive noun:) i can only respond by saying i wish i had written this.))

    xo
    erin

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. oh! i'm so silly! i mentioned fear! ha, and quickly forgot about it because it wasn't really my genuine feeling, but rather something imposed. (oh, i am useless with my memory. i forget myself so easily.)

      Delete

"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))