Mid-April and there's talk of snow, here in this temperate rainforest
where ferns cling to the sides of maples and moss is abundant.
The one day of warmth so far this year is going to be cancelled out
by a blanket of white fluff. O sun come back to us.
(But I don't want to write about the weather! Or last night's dinner!
Which, incidentally, was an artichoke, asparagus and fontina lasagna
made by Leslie Mackie of Macrina....)
Perhaps some year I'll return to poetry readings. Just can't bring myself
to do much more in that world now but attend my writing group.
Meanwhile, it's National Poetry Month and the city is alive with
the spoken word, with friends and fellow-poets on the stage.
So much in my universe changed four and a half years ago --
such a dramatic shift, so many desires have slipped away,
so many things have no meaning any more.
Nelson brought me the painting of a pear he painted in his class
at SSCC....this is the first art of any kind he's done since his father
passed. Prior to that, he played the flute, painted, sculpted, acted.
Perhaps it's just an excess of maternal pride surging forth, but allow me
to say that the depth of emotion contained in that single yellow fruit,
with its underlying layers of black and red, nearly brought me to my knees.