December 17
Clear and twenty-four at sunrise.
A cold wind out of the west all night.
Where our row of Norwegian pines
lines the road, there were lots of joined pairs
of needles this morning, blown over the grass
and onto the shoulder, every pair
an elongated V, coated with frost,
and each pointing east-southeast,
where, sure enough, the sun was waiting.
I wish to be still enough to notice joined pairs of Norwegian pine needles blown over grass, present enough to notice that each pair points to where the sun is waiting.
And so I am setting an intention to slow way down. My unfinished paintings and I plan to hibernate for a bit, to step back and see what unfolds.
Then, in the new year, sure enough, we'll stretch our limbs, shake our sleepy heads, and take stock.
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| naptime |
