waking and listening. and then getting up, smilling, to sketch this note.
revisiting notes from summer 2015, and finding this quote:
"This summer shifted my rhythm. I have a sense of all the things that need done, all the stuff I’d like to do, but instead of going on attack, pushing through the day, I ease into it. I consider “what’s next?” in a much gentler way, more easily let go of what’s not going to happen." (from thousand shades blog)
the quote, it brought back another line:
to not try harder, but to try softer.*
hammock time. watching clouds. and trying the search function of Poetry Foundation, like in spring in Mallorca. the search time I try is "reality". it brings me to lines that feel like written for me, in this week that included embracing a friend and feeling the reality of her illness, feeling the fear again, for her, for all of us. Words from 1943, in a poem called "Reality":
"I found a small green moss branched like a star
And bent to measure the discovery...
..driving out the fear of fear;
...And our feet that strike together the same stone, going
Far on this path where the star moss is growing."
- Florida Watts Smyth