Except for today when the clouds fell right on top of our grass and that’s why it’s [was] foggy and grey and super wet and hard to see far, said Lucy
we’ve been soaking up sunshine, tossing rocks into the sea
Instead of finishing the book I’ve already started, I’ve been trying to decide on my next book. There’s so many choices, so many I want to read all at the same time because the reviews are piling up and I’m caressing book spines and saying eenie, meenie, moe.
I’ve been reading a lot of school board documents and not as much poetry as I generally take in
this poem, sent from one of my oldest, dearest pals sent via email, opened and reopened and reopened:
The Trees by Philip Larkin
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greeness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
Perfect poem for birth’s day, heard [here].
I carried my knitting with me everywhere since last week. I’d fall deep into conversation or blow a few dandelion wishes with my littliest girl. Yup, no knitting happened. So with rested fingers and my birthday girl’s trip around the corner, I’m excited to finish some half-finished projects – there seem to be a lot of those in the knitty basket.
Remember the chicken and mermaid? Well tonight I got them ready for Friday’s auction for Family Umbrella Group that provides early childhood education assistance to kids.
Have a wonderful day, and be sure to eat some cake.
::: joining Ginny for yarn along.