the author taking a dorky portrait of herself
i received three more postcards today. i would like to share with you now. one card wrote 'i wish you warm nights, cool breezes, late dinners with new friends, freckled shoulders, deep breaths and child-like fun. signed summer love.' and the other one which was mistaken for junkmail almost was entitled grass, by mary oliver. those who disappointed, betrayed, scarified! those who would still put their hands upon me! those who belong to the past! how many of us have weighted the years with groaning and weeping? how many years have i done it how many nights spent panting hating grieving, oh, merciless, pitiless remebrances! i walk over the green hillsides, i lie down on the harsh, sun-flavored blades and bundles of grass; the grass cares nothing about me, it doesn't want anything from me, it rises to its own purpose, and sweetly, following holy dictum: to be itself, to let the sky be the sky, to let a young girl freely -- to let a middle-aged woman be, comfortably, a middle-aged woman. those bloody sharps and flats -- those endless calamities of the personal past. blah! i disown them from the rest of my life, in which i mean to rest. -- ummmmmm... okay then.
the author taking a dorky portrait of herself 
i received three more postcards today. i would like to share with you now. one card wrote 'i wish you warm nights, cool breezes, late dinners with new friends, freckled shoulders, deep breaths and child-like fun. signed summer love.' and the other one which was mistaken for junkmail almost was entitled grass, by mary oliver. those who disappointed, betrayed, scarified! those who would still put their hands upon me! those who belong to the past! how many of us have weighted the years with groaning and weeping? how many years have i done it how many nights spent panting hating grieving, oh, merciless, pitiless remebrances! i walk over the green hillsides, i lie down on the harsh, sun-flavored blades and bundles of grass; the grass cares nothing about me, it doesn't want anything from me, it rises to its own purpose, and sweetly, following holy dictum: to be itself, to let the sky be the sky, to let a young girl freely -- to let a middle-aged woman be, comfortably, a middle-aged woman. those bloody sharps and flats -- those endless calamities of the personal past. blah! i disown them from the rest of my life, in which i mean to rest. -- ummmmmm... okay then.
1 comment:
I like your bike bell:) did you customize it yourself or buy it that way? Did you get that aloe vera plant on your travels today I wonder hmmm... I always end up killing my aloe plants because I snap off the branches for the all natural hand lotion awww poor aloe plants, but my hands are super soft he he I must buy one and keep it alive that is my new short term goal in life, also the dorky pic of you is adorable;)
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