Stephenson Family Ties The Barn Burnt Down
And Now I See The Moon
My custom has always been to ponder grief,
that is, to follow it through ventricle and aorta
to find out its lurking places.  That old weight
in the chest, telling me there is something I
dwell on, because I know more than I know
and must learn from it myself.
from: Gilead
by: Marilynne Robinson

ITs a wonderful and blessed thing when I stumble upon a beautifully written phrase or two, that explains better than I ever could ...even in a million I feel.
When words open up images and emotions  in just a few short sentences...without being in the form of a poem, what a gift! What a blessing for the reader.
These are my thoughts for the week, as the last of the weekends' snow melts today.

As winter deepens, the loss of light saps spirit from even the sturdiest souls.  It is a critical time of year- the earth has tilted as far as it will go in its orbit and sent the bright winter stars sliding over the western horizon.  Days are short; the mid-day sun is low and weak. It is easy to feel despair, or at least a nagging uneasiness in the waning light.  Could not day disappear altogether and we be left in darkness? 
Each morning, I impatiently count down the day to the moment when the planet makes its final great arc downward and joyously tilts back at the winter solstice.  It is a private celebration, a magical, mysterious moment when the war with darkness is once more won and again the earth turns it beautiful, flawed face from death.

The hands of the clock have fallen behind an hour. So I now arise in the pitch black of morning, by habit and by necessity. (my inner clock is still saying 6:30)  I long for light and warmth. As I write, I huddle by the space heater in our bedroom, and look for any sign of light in the window.
Today Im grateful for Nancy Baird and her poetic words. I see why she was awarded the Utah Poet of the Year award in 1996.  It seems well deserved.


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