Saturday in CinCity
by Jane Hirshfield
In every instant, two gates.
One opens to fragrant paradise, one to hell.
Mostly we go through neither.
Mostly we nod to our neighbor,
lean down to pick up the paper,
go back into the house.
But the faint cries—ecstasy? horror?
Or did you think it the sound
of distant bees,
making only the thick honey of this good life?
Few thoughts to get out today. Again, I so appreciate all the new visitors and commentors and want to thank you all. I'd like to respond more timely to the comments, but if I am to get anything done I have to "step away from the computer." My Pasta ala Fridge does not make itself.
To answer two questions though, I do not take the photos on this blog site. Maybe a few were taken by HoneyHaired, but for the most part they were retrieved from various Google searches. If I can find an artist I try to include a name or website.
Believe me, if I could take photographs like some of these I would quit my job, sell my art, and most likely live in my car near the big crazy guy in his van by the river.
The poems come from many places--books, magazines, notebooks I've kept, on-line poetry sites, a lot from Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac, a rare few are my own. For me, a little poetry goes a long way, but it seems like one is enough to mull over throughout a day and give me a view of the world just slightly askew from what I see.
The sun is out here, the wind is warm, the dog wants to go out, and HoneyHaired needs to get to dance class. Whatever's planned for your Saturday, hope you enjoy.