The Daily Walk was beautiful today, with insanely blue skies, a moderate temperature and a fresh breeze. Queen Anne's lace is a wildflower that never whines; it a;ways looks sharp and crisp--even the blown flower is attractive, like a baby's little fist. The arrangement of leaves and stems along the path is often very beautiful and makes me wish for the printmaker's skills, and want to return to my beloved printmaking class with Alan May. Here is a link to his website.
Tonight I found another selection from Roo Borson's book: Rain; road; an open boat, McClelland and Stewart, Toronto, 2012. The selection is untitled and complete on page 5.
All night the scrabblings of mice in the attic have sounded, now reckless, now surreptitious, until with the first pre-dawn light the spell is broken, and one by one they drop off to sleep once more. Now it is the turn of the things in the kitchen to stand out: the beautiful old floorboards, a plate painted in 1937 upright in the dish-rack, the year too painted in gold on its back. Out the window hummocks and windrows blush maroon, the long spindles of the rising sun bringing back the familiar autumn world. Overnight a water strider has died in the bucket, two flies on the windowsill. Err on the side of kindness, say the last words of a dream -- advice that should be simple enough to follow, in a place where the stove is named Coquette and the radio Symphonaire.
--Roo Borson--
I've spent some time looking for the stove, but the Symphonaire was so easy to find that I am sure it is true. I love the language and the observations in this passage as well as the just pure love for old things, which I also possess. I find it interesting that a poet would use TWO semi-colons in the title of her book. But I wasn't her copy editor, and I kind of like it. Sleep well; then perhaps you can wake up in time to see the long spindles of the rising sun.
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