Winter mornings we sit watching rain fall into the pond. We read poetry, The Book of Hours by Rilke, written about 100 years ago. These poems are in a book that Susan sent us for Christmas. The original poems were recently translated by Joanna Macy and Anita Barrows.
While we sit reading our children are busy protecting, building, wiring, shipping, creating, traveling. They move through their days at a pace often set by others. They must contemplate in motion. We slowly sort throughts, books our saved papers, old photos.
... - Diane Wyland Carle (2006)
No comments:
Post a Comment