Back To The Ordinary

I always feel a little sheepish coming back to this space after I’ve vented a bit. A little worried that I might have said something I’ll regret later. And just a little gunshy.

Which is silly, really. But still, I feel I should start out with some sort of apology. Even though I realize it’s not needed. So maybe instead I’ll say: everything’s ok over here. If a little overfull of stuff. But, you know, normal.

The leaves are still turning. The world is still turning. And everything is just fine.

And so, to smooth over frayed edges, I give you poetry. Not my own, of course, but one by Pat Schneider. One Rick sent to me today to my work address. A little virtual hug, and a little moment of quiet. (thanks!)

The Patience of Ordinary Things

It is a kind of love, is it not?
How the cup holds the tea,
How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare,
How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes
Or toes. How soles of feet know
Where they're supposed to be.
I've been thinking about the patience
Of ordinary things, how clothes
Wait respectfully in closets
And soap dries quietly in the dish,
And towels drink the wet
From the skin of the back.
And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?

And, an addition from Rick: Complex times call for simple replies.

*sigh* I'm feeling better already.