3.09.2004
We’re having a heat wave, a heart wave. I know I should remember--like love that comes too soon, this is a false spring and I should resist its seductive voice. But I don’t want to.
I want the sun on my face, warm lazy days of grace, the stretched out sense of time, and the sky’s open blue.
It’s the early side of promise, the newly risen moon, the strawbacked hill and the laughter of friends on the deck, coming in through the open sliding door. It’s the palest cornflower blue, the mirrored lake, the happy buzz of bees on the acacia.
Come, take my hand. Let’s run through the meadow in our new sneakers. Let’s climb that tree. C’mon.
posted by Lisa on 6:57 AM link |
3.08.2004
You’ve already heard that we’re made of stardust.
That iron and carbon come from stars--but did you know that those stars had to be unmade before they became us—they had to live whole unimaginably long star-lives then explode in an act of creation that borne our kind.
These earthbound elemental bodies remember our earlier constellations
and so we stand and look up through the trees and feel the intimate connections that exist between us and the galactic dome above,
each particulate piece yearns for its old place in the sky’s story.
Watery rivulets make trails down the beach
in concert seeking to rejoin their own kind
the magnetism of tribe
A mosaic,
something that cannot be whole unless it’s made from that which has
been broken
like the water as body
each drop shares its story, of wooded hillside or underground spring, or the drip of a cavernous rocky journey
what has been broken can be made
what has been made will be broken
what has power must be broken, unmade and then reformed
like spirit, like dream,
and the shared stories of a community.
posted by Lisa on 7:04 AM link |
Copyright 2003, 2004, 2005 Lisa Thompson. All Rights Reserved.
