blessed independence day. always loving this boy: opening doors for me. smiling doing a tri in the vegas june. him. so i wore my fourth of july Vans for him. not for america...we just got back from living in costa rica. but for his blessed life (except the cheap a$% goggles), for all his open doors, for the gift of free agency. deven..."I was running, as the silks rustled, through room after room without stopping, for I believed in the existence of a last door."— Czeslaw Milosz, from “City Without a Name” in New and Collected Poems, trans. Milosz, Robert Haas, Robert Pinsky, and Renata Gorczynski
5 comments:
How he loves his mama. And how she does love him.
You have returned! Not for long I assume. Has it changed? Have you changed? Oh lovely v the changes are all around.
i love the snippets of poetry you post. it is all so inspiring...so soulful. you are better read than i am so i like coming to your blog on occasion. thanks for the bits of poetic recharge.
sre
siren som...how do you measure time? in teaspoons? in cups of tea? i look up and change has marched right across my face.
sre...how about some calligraphy to go along with the poems? on the side of filing motions, half a dozen kids, and all you do. hope you are well.
ah, calligraphy...my pen has sat too long in my desk
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