The Frost
…try to care about bugs and scrawny trees
Love the puddle of lukewarm water
From last week’s rain.
Leave the mountains alone for now.
Also the clear lakes surrounded by pines.
People are lined up to admire them.
Get close to the things that slide away in the dark.
Be grateful even for the boredom
That sometimes seems to involve the whole world.
Think of the frost
That will crack our bones eventually.
Reading poetry while I pause for lunch, since I’ve recently been told I should have more kindness in my life. Poetry is kindness, words are. For me, they always have been. *gestures at blog and countless journals, books, and papers around my desk at work and at home*
At this moment, the kindness is in poetry reminding me that even the ugly pieces of life are to be appreciated. That even in unkindness, there is life. In chaos, there is purpose.
And that the beauty of humanity isn’t in how we react to good, but how we create it from something else. Those lovely somethings that slip away in the dark, and take a piece of our souls with them, are wonderful all the same. They show us that we can live without those pieces. How optimistic it is, to learn to live without everything you thought you always would. How strange it is to remain whole after we have lost.
Think of Poe, who is certain that there is no beauty without some strangeness.
I am certainly strange, and my narcissistic mind assumes that means I am also beautiful. But that’s a musing for another day.
Cheers to a cup of coffee, strangeness, and more poetry,
~M
