Random thoughts from an older perspective, writing, politics, spirituality, climate change, movies, knitting, writing, reading, acting, activism focussing on aging. I MUST STAY DRUNK ON WRITING SO REALITY DOES NOT DESTROY ME.
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Lovely lovely lovely.
ReplyDeletetoday we had an ice storm and it was grey and raw out. I had to drive to town to mail a small order I had promised to send. The postage was ten dollars more than I had billed the client. I was annoyed about that. Got in my car, saw a red chocolate wrapper, opened it up. It was the last chocolate covered cherry from my Christmas box. delicious!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful..
ReplyDeleteThe senses bridge time, space and even death, don't they, bringing us back to specific moments with vivid detail. My brother recently brought me a pair of my mother's gloves that he had found some years ago. Black, wrist-length gloves. Gloves that she wore to my morning wedding with a deep green dress, a black tie belt and black shoes. She could be elegant but didn't feel so that day because the skirt was too short, she felt, for her thirty-eight years. Those black gloves probably also expressed perfectly her sense of mourning that I was marrying a pagan Catholic in a Catholic church. Such prejudice in that town in which we lived. I attempted to try them on because our hands were shaped alike, I remembered, but I found that they were too small. There went my surety that I had my mother's hands! Your poem is beautiful and evocative.
ReplyDeleteAnd now I've done what your acquaintance did the other day: I've used your poem to launch into a memory of my own!
ReplyDeleteLaunch away readers, this is lovely - you stoking your memories at my fire :)
ReplyDeleteXO
WWW
So beautiful.....greeting to you and do hope you have Spring.
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