The blue sky is crystal clear today.
No clouds in sight.
Which means day four of no rain dropping on my head, the house, the earth.
Millie and I went for a walk.
Breathing in the fresh, crisp, dry air.
But it is cold.
So I will warm up with a bath
and another poetry reading in the tub.
I think I will start with these words by William Stafford.
Things That Happen
Sometimes before great events a person will try,
disguised, at his best, not to be a clown:
he feels, "A great event is coming, bow down."
And I, always looking for something anyway,
always bow down.
Once, later than dawn but early,
before the lines of the calendar fell,
one of those events turned an unseen corner
and came near, near, sounding before it
somethign the opposite from a leper's bell.
We were back of three mountains called
"Sisters" along the Green Lakes trail
and had crossed a ridge when that
one little puff of air touched us,
hardly felt at all.
That was the greatest event that day;
it righted all wrong.
I remember it, the way the dust moved there.
Something had come out of the ground
and moved calmly along.
No one was ahead of us, no one
in all that moon-like land.
Oh, I thought, how hard the world has tried
with its wind, its miles, its blundering
stumbling days, again and again, to find my hand.
(from Allegiance new poems by William Stafford)