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On a Friday

When only poetry will do.

Today, a poem from (probably) my favorite poet, Wisława Szymborska, who wrote about ordinary life . . . and all its pain and all its joy . . . like no other.

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Reality Demands
Wisława Szymborska

Reality demands
that we also mention this:
Life goes on.
It continues at Cannae and Borodino,
at Kosovo Plje and Guernica.

There's a gas station
on a little square in Jericho,
and wet paint
on park benches in Bila Hora.
Letters fly back and forth
between Pearl Harbor and Hastings,
a moving van passes
beneath the eye of the lion at Cheronea,
and the blooming orchards near Verdun
cannot escape
the approaching atmospheric front.

There is so much Everthing
that Nothing is hidden quite nicely.
Music pours
from the yachts moored at Actium
and couples dance on their sunlit decks.

So much is always going on,
that it must be going on all over.

Where not a stone still stands
you see the Ice Cream Man
besieged by children.
Where Hiroshima had been
Hiroshima is again,
producing many products
for everyday use.

This terrifying world is not devoid of charms,
of the mornings
that make waking up worthwhile.
The grass is green
on Maciejowice's fields,
and it is studded with dew,
as is normal with grass.

Perhaps all fields are battlefields,
all grounds are battlegrounds,
those we remember
and those that are forgotten:
the birch, cedar, and fir forests, the white snow,
the yellow sands, gray gravel, the iridescent swamps,
the canyons of black defeat,
where, in times of crisis,
you can cower under a bush.

What moral flows from this? Probably none.
Only the blood flows, drying quickly,
and, as always, a few rivers, a few clouds.

On tragic mountain passes
the wind rips hats from unwitting heads
and we can't help
laughing at that.


My best wishes to all of you . . . for a weekend filled with peace and solace, time to rest - and things that bring you joy.

(And maybe some poetry.)


Today's poem was published in View With a Grain of Sand: Selected Poems, written by Wisława Szymborska and translated from the Polish by Stanisław Barańczak and Clare Cavanagh, 1995, Harcourt, Inc.  Information about the poet can be found here

And - if you have 5 minutes today - you might enjoy reading Szymborska's Nobel Lecture given in 1996 when she was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature.  It is a treat! (You need to scroll down the page a bit to the heading "Nobel Lecture.")


Wrapping It Up

Read With Us

It's time for a quick wrap-up of our most recent Read With Us book group selection . . . I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter by Erika L. Sánchez.  

It's also Thursday . . . which means Three on Thursday over on Carole's blog . . . and I'm challenging myself to see if I can get a 2-fer here. (Can I do it? Can I wrap up our book discussion AND do a Three on Thursday post?  You be the judge!)

First, the housekeeping.

We tried something a little different with the discussion portion of the book this time. Instead of stretching the discussion over three weeks, with each of us hosting the discussion on successive weeks, this time around we opted to discuss the book on one particular day, with each of us posting a different discussion question on our blogs.  Generally, we think this worked pretty well, and we're planning to continue this strategy with our next book.

We also planned to host a Zoom book discussion - and we even contacted the author to see if she'd be interested in joining us. You'll notice that I'm using the past tense here: planned. We think a Zoom book discussion would be great - and a lot of fun - and I'm sure we'll try it in the future. We decided to let it go this time, though. (One of us really doesn't need One. More. Thing. to deal with right now.)  We haven't heard back from the author yet (and it's been awhile, so we're thinking we won't). If we do, though, and if she's willing to join us, we may just host a "pop-up" Zoom discussion for this book at some future date. 

Second, the book itself.

Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter

While we didn't all love the book, most of us ended up liking it . . . more than we expected to. Generally, we found it to be a well-written coming-of-age story. Yes, the main character and narrator (Julia) was angry and abrasive, which made it hard for many of us to be completely sympathetic, but she also had to straddle two very different cultures and manage competing sets of expectations. There was an excellent discussion over on Bonny's blog about whether or not Julia's parents had realistic expectations of their daughters.  I think Becky summed it up perfectly when she pointed out that "fears of immigrant families attempting to raise children in what must seem a thoroughly alien and permissive society" drove Julia's mother's actions.  You can follow the Bonny's discussion here.

Carole's blog featured a good discussion of the book's setting (the book is mostly set in Chicago, but there is a segment set in a Mexican village when Julia returns for a visit), which most of us felt was well done and believable. Many readers felt Julia's visit to Mexico was unrealistic and they questioned that aspect of the storyline. For me, I'm just going to say that Julia's trip to visit her family in Mexico was vital for her personal growth, and a necessary vehicle for her to understand herself and her family better. Sure. It was perhaps a little unrealistic, but this is YA, and as Margene pointed out: "It’s part of a YA coming of age story. The reader needs to know Julia’s family roots and why there were expectations for her to be a perfect Mexican daughter, not an American. Her parents were not fully realized and this was a good device to share their stories." You can follow Carole's discussion here.

We talked issues in my blog discussion, where we were all in agreement that there were a LOT of serious social issues packed into this book. Some readers felt it was maybe too much - and maybe too dark - for the intended audience, while others felt it was appropriate. Sarah made an excellent point: "Something I've noticed about YA fiction now compared to the YA fiction I read when I was a young adult is that it's much more realistic. Some may say there were too many social issues in Julia's life, but the reality is that young adults today are dealing with those issues. I remember many of the books I read as a teenager glossing over those issues, as if they didn't exist. While I didn't love this book, it rang very true for me in this respect." Most of us agreed with Sarah -- that the issues Julia was dealing with were likely representative of what a young, smart, grieving first generation immigrant teen might be struggling with in her day-to-day life. You can follow my discussion here.

Overall, most of us thought the book was a good representation of YA literature -- that it was YA done well, with universal themes, an authentic voice, and a well-written story.  Many of us didn’t expect to like the book -- but ended up thinking it was . . . pretty good.  If you didn't have a chance to read I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter with us, you may want to check it out.  It's a critically-acclaimed YA selection filled with family conflicts, long-held secrets, surprising discoveries, rebellion, and - ultimately - reconciliation.

Third, the drumroll! 

Congratulations to Allison (otherwise known as @kwizgiver over on Instagram, and blogging at What If This Is As Good As It Gets), the winner of this round's exciting prize package!  


Thanks so much to all of you for reading with us! 

And STAY TUNED for the big announcement of our next Read With Us book selection . . . coming to a blog near you on Tuesday! (Hint: It's perfect for summer reading!)

A Wild and Crazy Summer Coming Up

What happens when a normally monogamous knitter suddenly has a summer fling or two (or three or four)?

I'm not exactly sure.
But it looks like a wild and crazy summer ahead!

While knitting another hat for my son (finished now, but no photos yet), I started dabbling with this . . . 


Fiddly knitting. Fun, though! (Those striped roofs. They get me every time.) This is kind of . . . well, that "bad boy" you really shouldn't date. But you do anyway because he's so exciting and a bit unpredictable, and besides -- he's really hot, and who doesn't need to let loose once in a while, right?

To balance things out, there's this . . . 


Simple and soothing. Level-headed. Dependable. Kind of like strawberry ice cream. This is . . . well, you know. That steady-freddy kind of boy you can really count on! Always polite and well-behaved. Your dad really likes him, and your friends all think he's cute. It's a good thing to have a steady-freddy in your life, but . . .

Oh, that's not all!

There are bunnies to make (they're . . . the neighbor's cute cousins, visiting for the summer -- and who can resist them???), and a baby sweater, too (that obligatory date your well-meaning co-worker set you up with).

Oh, yeah.
It's going to be a Wild and Crazy summer here, with quite the cast of characters!

Stay tuned.


How about YOU? What are you making this summer?

Maybe the Most Perfect Word

At the beginning of the year (you know . . . back when it all seemed so fresh and inviting and full of possibility?), I chose FLOW as my word for 2020. But it wasn't an obvious word choice. It was more that I had a . . . concept. . . in mind long before I had a word.

My concept? Well, I'd just spent a year on "intention" -- and I'd done a lot of work developing my personal values and understanding how important alignment is when it comes to intention, and - here is the biggie - coming to grips with reality-meeting-intentions. I really wanted to continue that work, but with a little more energy and some action -- and much more thinking.

I knew from the start that I wanted to focus more on mindfulness, and I wanted to explore how mindfulness could apply to my work flow and my creative flow. I wanted to do some very specific, flowing kind of movements -- more frequent yoga flows, for example, and spending more time on the water kayaking and stand-up paddle boarding. I had been wanting to get away from calendar-time and tune in more to the lunar phases. And, mostly, I wanted to accept how to just . . . let that shit go . . . in my life.

One word just kept popping up as I thought about my concept: FLOW. So I went with it! It felt right to me. I decided to just kind of . . . see where the word took me. I didn't want to establish any set plans or specific goals, though. Not really. Because . . . that just seemed to be the antithesis of FLOW. Right?


How could I have known then . . . what 2020 would throw my way!?!

Because, yeah. A global pandemic will kind of upend Every. Single. Thing.
Requiring . . . that you go with the flow!

FLOW . . . because no other alternative, really.

Things I'm learning these days (about living through a pandemic AND about going with the flow):

  • Mindfulness . . . is the key to getting me through my days.
  • Calendar? What calendar? I'll pay attention to the moon instead!
  • Stay rooted  . . . but flow! Change is everywhere.
  • Solitary time . . . brings clarity. And resourcefulness.
  • Getting into flow (through exercise or creative pursuits) . . . invites release, escape, and peace.
  • Let go of control . . . to see what emerges.

"Mindfulness means being awake. It means knowing what you are doing."
        --- Jon Kabat-Zinn


How about YOU? What are you learning from your word this year?

Turning Inward

It's been . . . a weird week for me.  

Nothing "bad" or upsetting or out-of-the ordinary happened (y'know. . . given the times). Life is just trudging along and all. But I'm definitely becoming more . . . introspective . . . about things, the all of it. I'm thinking more and processing. I guess I'm moving along to the "finding meaning" part of the grief spectrum, maybe? 

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Anyway. When I turn inward and get more think-y, I turn to poetry even more than I usually do. So today, I'm sharing a poem that found particular traction for me this week. It's a little longer than poems I usually share here - and I may have shared it before in the past (although not terribly recently), because it's one of my favorites.  I hope you'll like it, too.


You Can't Have It All
Barbara Ras

But you can have the fig tree and its fat leaves like clown hands
gloved with green. You can have the touch of a single eleven-year-old finger
on your cheek, waking you at one a.m. to say the hamster is back.
You can have the purr of the cat and the soulful look
of the black dog, the look that says, If I could I would bite
every sorrow until it fled, and when it is August,
you can have it August and abundantly so. You can have love,
though often it will be mysterious, like the white foam
that bubbles up at the top of the bean pot over the red kidneys
until you realize foam's twin is blood.
You can have the skin at the center between a man's legs,
so solid, so doll-like.  You can have the life of the mind,
glowing occasionally in priestly vestments, never admitting pettiness,
never stooping to bribe the sullen guard who'll tell you
all roads narrow at the border.
You can speak a foreign language, sometimes,
and it can mean something. You can visit the marker on the grave
where your father wept openly. You can't bring back the dead,
but you can have the words forgive and forget hold hands
as if they meant to spend a lifetime together. And you can be grateful
for makeup, the way it kisses your face, half spice, half amnesia, grateful
for Mozart, his many notes racing one another toward joy, for towels
sucking up the drops on your clean skin, and for deeper thirsts,
for passion fruit, for saliva. You can have the dream,
the dream of Egypt, the horses of Egypt and you riding in the hot sand.
You can have your grandfather sitting on the side of your bed,
at least for a while, you can have clouds and letters, the leaping
of distances, and Indian food with yellow sauce like sunrise.
You can't count on grace to pick you out of a crowd,
but here is your friend to teach you how to high jump,
how to throw yourself over the bar, backwards,
until you learn about love, about sweet surrender,
and here are periwinkles, buses that kneel, farms in the mind
as real as Africa. And when adulthood fails you,
you can still summon the memory of the black swan on the pond
of your childhood, the rye bread with peanut butter and bananas
your grandmother gave you while the rest of the family slept.
There is the voice you can still summon at will, like your mother's,
it will always whisper, you can't have it all,
but there is this.


My best wishes to all of you . . . for a weekend filled with peace and solace and things that bring you joy.

And maybe some poetry.


Today's poem was published in Bite Every Sorrow, 1998, Louisiana State University Press.  Information about the poet can be found here.


A Very Different Kind of Happy Place

As I wrote about earlier this week, I'm holding firm to my strict stay-safe-at-home routine. (Technically, this is not an really issue for me yet because here in Michigan, we are still under a shelter-in-place order).

But I decided to make one big exception:  I visited my favorite nursery this morning.  
(Landscaping services and garden-related shops were declared "essential" here in Michigan only recently.)


Normally, going to the nursery is . . . going to my Happy Place.  I wander and I ponder and I take my time.  I find inspiration and I take pictures and I just relax and enjoy myself.  But, of course, these are not normal times.  

This morning, my favorite nursery still LOOKED like my favorite nursery.  The plants were just as gorgeous and lush as always. I knew where to find everything.  It smelled fresh and green and grow-y.  It felt so good to be there again.  

But yet. . . 

It also felt really weird. Surreal, actually. All the other gardeners had masks on. Everyone was polite and careful about making sure we could social-distance appropriatately. The nursery had all kinds of procedures in place to make shopping safe:  one-way aisles, carefully wiped-down carts, no-touch hand santizer dispensers, no-contact credit card readers, everything you need to feel (sorta) comfortable plant-shopping in a pandemic.  But it was so . . . quiet. No one was laughing or talking or even asking for help. It was so very, very quiet.

(At one point, I just felt so overwhelmed that I shed a few tears. It just . . . happened. And I couldn't do a thing about it.)


I got in. I got out.

I picked up what I went in for: my herbs and a few plants for my front porch containers and hanging ferns for my patio. I didn't jot any notes. I didn't take pictures of anything for future reference or inspiration. I didn't browse. (Much.) (Because I did still end up with a few things that just caught my eye. . . )

And then I came home and jumped in the shower!

So it IS still my Happy Place.
It's just a very different KIND of Happy Place.  
("Enriched" now, as it is . . . with sad, scary, surreal-ness.)


Sweet and Sour

I've been in a kind of . . . in-between place . . . with my knitting projects lately.

I feel so up-in-the-air right now.  In-between seasons.  In-between normal life and not-normal-at-all life.  In-between moods.  In-between everything! 

Whenever I get to feeling all in-between, I tend to gravitate toward small things that don't require much commitment or focus.  And lately?  It's been all about my mood, which I'll describe as . . .


First, I'll show you the sweet.
(Soundtrack if you want it.)
(It's a live performance of one of my favorites.  Just sayin.)


Such a cozy room,
the windows are illuminated by the sunshine through them,
fiery gems for you, only for you . . .


And then . . . the sour!
(Soundtrack if you want it.)
(And it's not the clean version.  Just sayin.)


Now baby, baby, baby 2020
Why d'you wanna wanna hurt me so bad?
(So bad, so bad, so bad)


So.  There you have it!  Sweet and sour knitting . . . for the in-between times.


Ravelry details - with more photos - here:

Sweet . . . and . . . Sour


Be sure to head over to Kat's today for more Unraveled Wednesday posts.


Risk Management

Well, folks. Here we go. 

We're all entering this new phase of Pandemic Life . . . the part where we open things up again and go back to "normal."  This seems particularly scary to a lot of us -- because the ongoing risks of the pandemic haven't actually changed.  It's still a very nasty virus that we don't fully understand or know how to treat -- and it can take a lot of unpredictable and frightening twists and turns once it gets into your body. Sure. We do seem to be out of the "acute emergency" stage of it (for now). And I can understand that it's time to make a shift toward developing strategies that allow us to resume some parts of our old lives.

But . . . yikes!  We've got some risks to manage.

I'm feeling pretty lucky to be living in Michigan right now.  We have a tough governor who is standing up to attacks from all sides AND holding the line on a thoughtful and phased-in re-opening process. I feel slightly more confident about the integrity of the process than I might if I lived in . . . well . . . one of those states jumping right in with both feet.


(My new hat . . . )

I'm paying a lot of attention these days to what public health experts are saying about disease transmission AND I'm listening to their advice about managing personal risks when it comes to the coronavirus. Considering the short period of time this virus has been in the world (remember back to the new year? when none of us had even heard of this thing yet? yeah - short period of time), we've learned a whole lot about what it is, how it seems to transmit, and what it can do.

What we know about transmission:
(Although I've read several articles, this one by Dr. Erin Bromage is the best when it comes to a straightforward explanation.)

  • COVID-19 spreads via droplets which are expelled when infected people cough, sneeze, scream, shout, sing, talk . . . or just breathe.
  • The tricky thing is that people begin to expel droplets full of virus up to 3 days BEFORE they experience any symptoms.  This is particularly bad news in virus-world -- because healthy-feeling people are out there . . . breathing . . . for days before they feel sick enough to stay at home.
  • To get the virus, you need exposure to an infectious dose.  Dr. Bromage's simple formula looks like this:
    Successful Infection = Exposure to virus X Time
  • The longer your exposure to the virus, the more likely you are to become infected.
  • The factors that contribute to virus transmission are:  enclosed environments, poor air circulation, and a high density of people -- and these factors are all boosted by time.
  • The main sources of infection: home, workplace, public transport, social gatherings, restaurants, and indoor sports.

Basically, then . . . we're better off out there if we're:

  • Outside.
  • Around a limited number of people.
  • At a distance.
  • While wearing masks.

All of that . . . doesn't change now.  Even though we've flattened the curve and come out of the woods enough that most states (and a lot of people in them) feel comfortable moving about again.  But like I used to tell my kids as they were growing up:  Just because you CAN, it doesn't mean you SHOULD.

As Michigan opens up, I'm thinking long and hard about how I want to (and whether I want to) move about again.  I'm going to think about what we know about transmission, and I'm going to use that information to manage my own risk.  For the most part, I'll consider the environment -- is it a closed space? are there a lot of people in the space? are they wearing masks? -- and I'm going to ask myself if I really NEED to do this thing/be in this space? or can it wait?  I'm going to pay attention to "the numbers" and the trends in my area. I'm still planning to stay home as much as possible (although we are planning to "double our bubble" with Brian and Lauren). I'll keep wearing my mask. And washing my hands. And disinfecting all the surfaces.

I'll try to figure out ways to support my local businesses as they open up, but I won't be . . . 

  • eating at restaurants
  • getting a haircut
  • going to the gym
  • strolling through the farmers market
  • meeting up with friends
  • going to a movie
  • traveling

These are all hard things for me. Because I love doing ALL of those things. And I miss doing them.

But I also really don't want to get COVID-19 (and especially before they have the treatment protocols a bit more under control). And I don't want Tom or my dad or my kids or my friends or any of the people who work at the businesses I support to get it either!

For me . . . it's all about managing my risk.

How are you planning to manage your own risk as things open up again? And how are you making your decisions? Do you feel like you have enough information to navigate your Pandemic Life? 


Here are a few other articles I've read about what public health experts have to say about making choices and managing the risks as our communities open up again (I'm not certain, but some of these may require subscriptions to read):

From The Atlantic: As Restaurants and Stores Reopen, What's Safe

From the Washington Post: Where Public Health Experts Will - And Won't - Go as Businesses Open Back Up

From Vox: Coronavirus: When Will It Be Safe To Work Out With Other People Again?

From Vox: Lockdowns Worked. Now What?



Monday Monday

. . . can't trust that day.  Time to . . . 


As usual, on Mondays I share a bit of this and a little of that and things I discovered over the weekend.

(And I always start things off with my quote-for-the-week.)


"Be careful not to sleepwalk through the only life you have. Wake up. Blink hard. Stretch. Keep moving."
                    --- Maggie Smith


I don't know if it's spring or resilience or working through the cycles of grief or what . . . but I'm feeling more myself these days.  Or at least more ready to tackle my days.  No more sleepwalking for me!  

How about you?



Probably the most common "pandemic complaints" I hear from my friends revolve around the weirdness-of-time . . . or the fact that they can't seem to read anymore.  I know I suffer from both of those things, although the time thing is getting a little better lately.  The reading thing? Still pretty weird. It's not that I can't read. It's more that I am not enjoying the kinds of books and stories that I used to be able to depend on.

I read this article (from Vox) last week - about why it's so hard to read a book right now. The article is a summary of an interview with a neuroscientist, and it's interesting (although a little long). Basically, he says that our brains are anxiously busy right now . . . "trying to resolve an uncertainty that is unresolvable."

Yeah. I guess that'll do it.


And, speaking of reading . . . 

I read mysteries/detective thrillers once in a while, but they need to be a certain kind of mysteries/detective thrillers. (I'm particular.) Although not my typical genre, I find I'm really enjoying mysteries and detective thrillers these days. Because I'm (ahem) kinda picky, I like to scour lists of book recommendations to find authors and titles that might interest me.  The other day I found this list of detective novels set on the New England cape and islands. Many of the books/series in this list look interesting to me. Maybe there's something there for you, too?

And, while we're at it . . . what mystery/detective thriller series do you recommend?  



I love seeing all the craft workshops making their transition from in-person to online offerings. I actually think this is one of the best things coming out of this stay-at-home situation. Yes, nothing beats hands-on learning with a small cohort of crafters in a remote location . . . but that's never been within reach of more than a handful of crafters. It's exciting to see these formerly "restrictive" workshops opening up to all of us with an internet connection.

And, sure. There's gonna be a learning curve. Not all workshops can manage that jump from in-person to online smoothly. There will be kinks to work out. Yada-yada. . . But I think it's pretty cool that it's happening!

Here are a couple of workshops for you to check out:

The Lakeside Fiber Retreat has been an annual, in-person retreat in New Hampshire for a number of years.  This year, the entire retreat - including an exclusive marketplace - will be held virtually.  There are several workshops that sound great (I think I may sign up for Ellen Mason's rope basket workshop), with a variety of price options.  (You can sign up for just one workshop - or for an all-access pass, for example.)

The Makerie is sponsoring another Playful Pause this Wednesday (May 20). If you're hesitant about paying for an on-line class or workshop, and you just want to dip your toe in and see what it might be like, this is your opportunity.  (In full disclosure, I really liked the first Playful Pause workshop . . . but the second one just didn't quite work for me, and I ended up leaving early.) 

Let me know if you give these workshops a try -- or if you hear about any others that sound interesting.



I am a big fan of The Moth Radio Hour. I just love listening to people tell their own stories! Here's a link to an older show (recorded in 2016) featuring Natalie Chanin (of Alabama Chanin fame) telling her story of coming home to Alabama to launch her company.  It's a great story -- and hearing Natalie tell it herself is a bonus. (Plus . . . the episode also features Tim Gunn.) Definitely worth a listen!



We all need some humor in our lives -- and specially when our world is just so absurd. This clip of comedian John Mulaney is not recent (and it's likely you've already seen it), but when I saw it again last week I found it to be . . . well . . . let's just say it's still quite relevant. And worth watching over and over again.

Enjoy. . . 


That's it for me this Monday morning.
I hope your week is off to a good start!

Fridays Remain for Poetry

Earlier this week, I stumbled across this quote from Mary Oliver . . . 

"Poetry is a life-cherishing force.  For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry."
            -- Mary Oliver

As always, she captures the essence of the thing, y'know?


Yesterday, after a day of rain, I was out with the dogs . . . just out around our cabin . . . and I found this little violet, working it's way up through the detritus of dead leaves and old grass to bloom.  Just for me.


It's just a common blue violet, something I get a little annoyed about in my garden beds at home (because they are invasive where you don't want them to be). But they're always charming. Especially in early spring when not much else is blooming.  

And, well.  Especially this year.

Anyway.  Seeing that little blue violet reminded me of one of my favorite Mary Oliver poems -- about fleeting beauty and blooming despite inevitable oblivion.  Here it is.  A little Mary Oliver for your Friday!


Moccasin Flower
Mary Oliver

All my life,
  so far,
      I have loved
          more than one thing, 
including the mossy hooves
   of dreams, including
      the spongy litter
         under the tall trees.
In spring
   the moccasin flowers
      reach for the crackling
         lick of the sun
and burn down.  Sometimes
   in the shadows,
      I see the hazy eyes,
         the lamb-lips
of oblivion,
   its deep drowse,
      and I can imagine a new nothing
         in the universe,
the matted leaves splitting,
   open, revealing
      the black planks
         of the stairs.
But all my life -- so far --
   I have loved best
      how the flowers rise
         and open, how
the pink lungs of their bodies
   enter the fire of the world
      and stand there shining
         and willing -- the one
thing they can do before
   they shuffle forward
      into the floor of darkness, they
         become the trees.


My best wishes to all of you . . . for a weekend filled with peace and solace and things that bring you joy.
And maybe some poetry.


Information about the poet can be found here.