Quick, but heartfelt
Today, I'm grateful that I have so much work/play on that I have to do this post quickly.
Already, I'm a bit overwhelmed with things to be grateful for. Here are some of them (semi-colons in honour of Victoria Sandison):
A peach-coloured sunrise; a dog called Rosie with a laughable gait; William Steele, veritable legend; a pair of neoprene gloves from Corinna, who wears a sequined swimming cap in the summer and in the winter one covered in flowers, as it keeps her head warmer; yet more paté from yesterday; exciting projects coming at me thick and fast; John in Brighton, Paloma in Spain, Arnaud in France and a pleasant-voiced German speaking his own language just in front of me; a particular tree on the heath, with orange morning light on its leaves, looking like a special place.
Mist on the pond again this morning. Swirling mist. It made me think of the sci-fi ghost stories I use to write when I was little. As I swam through it today, I thought of being in a cannibal's cooking pot - that kind of steam rising up. Only the water was really very cold today, so maybe it's more like being cooked by a cannibal Heston Blumenthal. Or not.
That'll have to do for today - there's so much of the day left to happen.
In the meantime, here's a poem that touches on gratitude - or a snippety bit of a poem - by WH Auden. I like it very much.
I could (which you cannot)
Find reasons fast enough
To face the sky and roar
In anger and despair
At what is going on
Demanding that it name
Whoever is to blame;
The sky would only wait
Till all my breath was gone
And then reiterate
As if I wasn’t there
That singular command
I do not understand.
Bless what is there for being,
Which has to be obeyed, for
What else am I made for,Agreeing or disagreeing?
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