On a day when the only thing bigger than the snowflakes is the deep gray loneliness of the sky, I bring you a minuscule chunk of one of my favorite Christmas gifts.
My wife, Erin, has a thing for finding the perfect book to send me off on my April exploration of the Bahamian backwoods. Normally, when I unpack the mystery book from my jumbled bag on board a sailboat anchored on Andros Island, I delight in the pen-sloppy scribblings just inside the front cover. Last year it was Pablo Neruda. What will this Spring bring? Someday perhaps I’ll do a post on those messages. Though parts, to be sure, will stay private forever for me.
Today’s words for winter: by Galway Kinnell. You (and I) can thank some nifty old guy on the east coast for this book. He knows who he is too. I’m glad Erin reads his blog as well, for she is an excellent gift-giver.
This verse is from A New Selected Poems from Galway Kinnell. I feel OK about posting the words to this poem here in hopes that it will gain a larger readership. I will, of course, retract if ever asked.
We humans do create fires here on Earth. We create warmth in a universe where, aside from stars, cold is the norm.
Amazing words here. Poetry compared to language is the inverse of DNA compared to a tree frog. While poetry can be seen as shiny distillation of our daily talk, biochemicals tell little of the quickness of life.
Artwork thanks: Cemetery Angel from Adam Selwood on Flickr.