You and Me on the Rock (Brandi Carlile)

Today is our 48th wedding anniversary.  WTF.  Crazy, right?!?

Oh, and if you're doing the math at home:  17,520 One Days at a Time... 🤣

A Happy Marriage, One Gesture at a Time by Susan Semenak

"Really great marriages are not the result of long hours of hard work, but of everyday behaviours and attitudes, seemingly small gestures that show your spouse that he or she is noticed, appreciated, respected, loved and desired," Orbuch writes in her just-published book 5 Simple Steps to Take Your Marriage from Good to Great (Delacorte Press), which is based on the study's findings.

MONTREAL – What makes couples happy? What makes marriages last? It's the small stuff, it turns out: Telling him he looks great in his jeans. Bringing her coffee in bed in the morning. Sneaking off without the kids from time to time. Taking turns doing the laundry.

Terri Orbuch, a Michigan-based research professor and marriage- and-family therapist, spent more than 22 years charting the love lives of 373 married couples in the U.S. government-funded Early Years of Marriage Project, the longest-running study of marriage conducted in North America.

The secrets of happy couples, Orbuch and her team of researchers found, were surprisingly simple.

"Really great marriages are not the result of long hours of hard work, but of everyday behaviours and attitudes, seemingly small gestures that show your spouse that he or she is noticed, appreciated, respected, loved and desired," Orbuch writes in her just-published book 5 Simple Steps to Take Your Marriage from Good to Great (Delacorte Press), which is based on the study's findings.

When couples in solid relationships run into trouble, or experience "the blahs," they often focus on what's wrong, as do many self-help books and marriage counsellors, Orbuch said in a telephone interview this week. But she found focusing on their strengths and taking a few minutes every day "to fix the little things" had a greater impact on happiness.

"It's not those big challenges that couples experience that eat away at happiness so much as the seemingly minor issues that accumulate over the years," Orbuch said. "We're so busy with work and family and exercise and shovelling snow and doing the groceries that people too often put their relationships on the backburner." Here are a few of the secrets Orbuch gleaned from happy couples for making a good marriage great:

Read the rest of the article here... 

SONG:  You and Me on the Rock by Brandi Carlile

BOOK:  What Makes a Marriage Last: 40 Celebrated Couples Share with Us the Secrets to a Happy Life by Marlo Thomas, Phil Donahue

POEM(S):  New Vows by Sierra DeMulder

When my best friend got married,

he walked down the aisle to a song

about death. Isn’t that what marriage is

all about? he laughed. A promise

to be together until one of you dies?

I regret my wedding vows, too focused

on the benign—our boundless laughter,

how I cherish just waking up together.

I should have said, I take thee and all

the treachery that aliveness guarantees.

I should have said, I will help bury

your elders. I take your hand and your heart 

murmur; the cancerous growth above

your father’s ear. I take your family

history of alcoholism and give you back

a possible covenant of dementia, miscarriage, 

high blood pressure. In sickness and in

car accidents. In sickness and in the mundane. 

Shared calendars and anniversaries spent 

arguing about our budget. You told me once 

Great Danes have a short life expectancy, 

only 6-10 years if you’re lucky, and I cried: 

who would sign up to love something

so impermanent? O, beloved, we have

been so happy lately, it’s making us nervous. 

And isn’t that what marriage is all about:

a love so darling, so hallowed and exposed,

we both volunteer to be its keeper—when

the joy runs dry, when the body fails—

not because but in glorious spite of

the unpalatable, impossible fact that

someday one of us will wake up first

only to find ourselves alone.

Me First by Billy Collins

We often fly in the sky together,

and we’re always okay—there’s our luggage now

waiting for us on the carousel.

And we drive lots of places

in all manner of hectic traffic,

yet here we are pulling in the driveway again.

So many opportunities to die together,

but no meteor has hit our house,

no tornado has lifted us into its funnel.

The odds say then that one of us will go

before the other, like heading off

into a heavy snow storm, leaving

the other one behind to stand in the kitchen

or lie on the bed under the fan.

So why not let me, the older one, go first?

I don’t want to see you everywhere

as I wait for the snow to stop,

before setting out with a crooked stick, calling your name.

Habitation by Margaret Atwood

Marriage is not

a house or even a tent

it is before that, and colder:

the edge of the forest, the edge

of the desert

                the unpainted stairs

at the back where we squat

outside, eating popcorn

the edge of the receding glacier

where painfully and with wonder

at having survived even

this far

we are learning to make fire

Marriage by Ellen Bass

When you finally, after deep illness, lay

the length of your body on mine, isn’t it

like the strata of the earth, the pressure

of time on sand, mud, bits of shell, all

the years, uncountable wakings, sleepings,

sleepless nights, fights, ordinary mornings

talking about nothing, and the brief

fiery plummets, and the unselfconscious

silences of animals grazing, the moving

water, wind, ice that carries the minutes, leaves

behind minerals that bind the sediment into rock.

How to bear the weight, with every

flake of bone pressed in. Then, how to bear when

the weight is gone, the way a woman

whose neck has been coiled with brass

can no longer hold it up alone. Oh love,

it is balm, but also a seal. It binds us tight

as the fur of a rabbit to the rabbit.

When you strip it, grasping the edge

of the sliced skin, pulling the glossy membranes

apart, the body is warm and limp. If you could,

you’d climb inside that wet, slick skin

and carry it on your back. This is not

neat and white and lacy like a wedding,

not the bright effervescence of champagne

spilling over the throat of the bottle. This visceral

bloody union that is love, but

beyond love. Beyond charm and delight

the way you to yourself are past charm and delight.

This is the shucked meat of love, the alleys and broken

glass of love, the petals torn off the branches of love,

the dizzy hoarse cry, the stubborn hunger.

QUOTE(S):  “Marriage is not a noun; it’s a verb. It isn’t something you get. It’s something you do. It’s the way you love your partner every day.” ~ Barbara De Angelis

"Basically the secret to a long-lasting marriage is memory loss and well-meaning lies and beach margaritas." ~ Jenny Lawson

Yule (Winter Solstice Song) - (Lisa Thiel)

artist: George Wolfe Plank

Happy Yule!  I have always appreciated and been in awe of the Winter Solstice, but, unlike many dear friends, I have never actively celebrated it.  With my recent affinity for gardening leading me to Herbalism (what I like to call Kitchen Witchery), I am finding myself drawn to earth-centered beliefs and Pagan rituals.

I've been wanting to have My Sweet Babboo (a.k.a. four-year-old grandson Colin) over to view my holiday decorations but, through a series of best-laid-plans-gone-awry, it just hasn't worked out yet... until now, when the plan is for me to pick him up from preschool (which I do a few times a week anyway) this afternoon, bring him to my house for a few hours, and then deliver him home to Sarah... 😍  

I cannot wait to walk him through the house, spotlighting my small lighted tree (similar to the one my Mom made in her ceramics class in the '60s)... my dining room table (with vintage ornaments in a square glass vase)... my "candle tree", with presents underneath... my Santa collection, lovingly acquired over the decades (and which I haven't displayed the last few years)... lighting candles throughout... then putting the Netflix fireplace on my TV screen and turning down the overhead lights, enjoying a snack of hot chocolate and cookies, and talking about our holiday wishes (not just which toys Santa is bringing, but of experiences and love... 💖 )

Maybe I have high expectations for those upcoming few hours but, smart and thoughtful kiddo that he is, I think he will more than live up to them.  And, bonding time with my Snugglebunny:  Priceless!

P.S.  Had to share the below article, as I'm recently enamored with Ms. Renkl's writing and am, in fact, giving her book of essays to various of my special peeps this holiday season... 🎁

Falling a Little Bit in Love with the Dark by Margaret Renkl

Dec. 19, 2022

Ms. Renkl is a contributing [NYT] Opinion writer who covers flora, fauna, politics and culture in the American South.

NASHVILLE — This year the winter solstice arrives on Dec. 21 in the shank of the dark afternoon. Officially the first day of astronomical winter, the solstice is better known as the shortest day of the year. I prefer to think of it as the longest night of the year, for I am making friends with darkness.

For most of my life, I looked forward to the solstice because it signals a shift to longer days. I was never a fan of winter, and earlier sunrises and later sunsets always felt to me like a kind of compensation for the cold. But my heart has been thawing these past years, watching as winter becomes ever more fragile, its cold imperiled by the changing climate, its darkness by our own foolishness and fear.

With the arrival of LED lighting, which costs so little to burn, every house has become an island of illumination, every city a blazing forest fire of artificial light. In my own backyard, it’s hard to enjoy the full moon because so many of our neighbors now leave their lights on all night long. And that’s without the holiday displays, each one bright enough to guide an airplane from the sky and land it safely in the middle of our street.

This resolve to snuff out every shadow of night — I wonder how closely it might be linked to the metaphorical darknesses of our age. Discord, suffering and sorrow are everywhere, all much darker than any winter night, and tilting Earth is not to blame for them. It’s not hard to understand what’s really to blame: Media and political figures alike profit when we are angry or afraid.

Literal darkness is simple by comparison, but people inclined to flood their own yards with light for safety’s sake seem not to know how little safety they’ve provided themselves or what measures of actual safety they have closed off in the attempt. They will never know what dangers might lurk beyond their own little circle of light because they’ve created the very circumstances that prevent their eyes from adjusting to darkness.

This is the flip side of Willy Loman’s lament about the loss of sunlight — “The grass don’t grow anymore, you can’t raise a carrot in the backyard,” he says in “Death of a Salesman.” Willy’s trouble is the proliferation of apartment houses. Ours is the proliferation of LEDs. Willy’s garden languishes, and we can no longer see in the dark.

It has become fashionable in fall for people to decorate their front porches with pumpkins of all colors and sizes. In Middle Tennessee, we don’t get more than a few days of true fall weather anymore, and no one I know grows pumpkins, so these porchscapes, as they are called, are mostly aspirational. Less fall than faux fall. An Instagram season.

But the pumpkins are real, heavy and ripe. Pumpkin season used to run right up to Thanksgiving, but Halloween now marks the end of the porchscapes. Apparently taking their cue from the big-box stores, Americans have decided to hang their Christmas lights on the day after Halloween.

It’s almost always a mistake to feed wildlife, in part because feeding habituates wild creatures to our presence. Animals that are not afraid of us tend to come to a bad end at the hands of people who are afraid of them. But I couldn’t bear to see those perfectly good pumpkins, dozens of them, heading to the landfill, so I mentioned on WhatsApp that I thought our wild neighbors would welcome a pumpkin dinner once the pumpkins were no longer useful as decorations.

My human neighbors responded by bringing me trunkloads of pumpkins. Day after day I would find our front bench piled high, and day after day I would carry the pumpkins out back and tuck them up against the fence around the play yard we built to keep our dog out of the wildlife sanctuary that is the rest of this half acre. Every morning I walk down to look at the impromptu fencescape, delighting in each new sign that a raucous feast has been unfolding in our backyard after dark.

The party has been going on for weeks now. Some of the pumpkins have been rolled across the yard, to what purpose I can’t guess. Some of the first pumpkins to arrive are beginning to rot now, but others are perfectly clean inside, gnawed down to the rind. The hollows fill up with rain, a natural water source for thirsty wildlife.

Many creatures in this part of the world will eat a pumpkin: squirrels, chipmunks, groundhogs, birds and turtles by day; mice, deer, opossums, skunks, raccoons, foxes and coyotes by night. Heading out to check the mail, I have watched more than one squirrel spring from the center of a giant pumpkin, rocket-launched from deep within, at the sound of my footfall.

But I don’t know who’s been feasting at night. Nearly every potential pumpkin eater in the suburbs has been spotted in this neighborhood during the 27 years we’ve lived here, and it could be any of them. It could be all of them, one after another. It would be so wonderful if it was all of them.

Which beautiful mysteries are out there in the dark, living their hidden lives so near our own unshadowed lives? I could hang our old trail camera on a nearby tree and probably find out, but so far I haven’t even charged the camera batteries. Something is holding me back, and I’m not sure what.

It might be fear. It would be a thrill to discover some rare and elusive creature delighting in these donated pumpkins, but the reverse is also true. What if I peered at all the grainy trail-cam images and found only the solitary opossum who sleeps under our shed? What if the only thing I learned from the camera is that most of my treasured backyard neighbors have been pushed out by all the changes in this changing city?

I know that’s not true, at least not yet. I can see the coyotes and the foxes with my own eyes. I see the skunks and the raccoons. Every morning Rascal heads down into his yard to sniff the pumpkins through the fence, and some mornings he leaps back in alarm at the scent of what must surely be a predator. Even so, I am afraid the day is coming when they will all be gone.

So I am teaching myself to rest in uncertainties, to revel in the secrets of darkness. I welcome the hungry creatures, cold and wild, that find their way in the dark to this unexpected bounty, but I don’t need to know who they are. Let them live out their lives in mystery. Let the cold nights hold them. Let the cold nights hold me, too.

SONG:  Yule (Winter Solstice Song) by Lisa Thiel

BOOK:  A Light in Life:  Meditations on Impermanence by Mary Pipher

POEM:  Celebration by M.E. Hope

 

 There is a reason we save this time

 of the year for celebration,

 this time when we need sun or star or flame

 to take us through the axis tip;

 when we need snowfall and miracle

 and warmth and song to carry us through

 till spring.  There is a reason

 we search the sky, listening for wingbeat,

 verse, the sound of doves hovering

 in the shelter of pine. We look toward

 one another, rather than away,

 pull in toward the hearth

 the sturdy chair, take the arms of one

 so loved, we could not go on

 without them, and in this

 pause, we pull in the world.

 The long winter night fills us:

 a renewal, a radiance, a reason for waking.

QUOTE(S):  "Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year, beckons us into the darkness, inviting us into the depths of ourselves and asks us, “What must you let die at this time? What is calling to you to be born? What is your next step?” ~ Wild Woman Magic

"May you find peace in the promise of the solstice night, that each day forward is blessed with more light.  That the cycle of nature, unbroken and true, brings faith to your soul and wellbeing to you.  Rejoice in the darkness, in the silence find rest, and may the days that follow be abundantly blessed." ~ Unknown

“This is the solstice, the still point of the sun, its cusp and midnight, the year's threshold and unlocking, where the past lets go of and becomes the future; the place of caught breath, the door of a vanished house left ajar.“ ~ Margaret Atwood

“To go in the dark with a light is to know the light. To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight, and find, that the dark, too, blooms and sings, and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.“ ~ Wendell Berry

The Streets of Laredo (Frank H. Maynard)

Larry McMurtry, Novelist of the American West, Dies at 84:  In “Lonesome Dove,” “The Last Picture Show” and dozens more novels and screenplays, he offered unromantic depictions of a long mythologized region.

The Larry McMurtry I Knew:  I caught my first glimpse of the 'Lonesome Dove' author on the streets of Archer City when I was a teenager. It was an encounter that shaped the rest of my life.

Oh, it's the end of an era... 💔

Larry McMurtry first came on my radar in my college Creative Writing class, 1974-ish, when our assignment was to write a poem about an author who had influenced us, in hopes of encouraging someone else to read them.  Imagine our surprise when, the following day, we were split into teams of two (our partner being the person in the row directly next to/across from us).  Mine was GW, who I thought was cute (and smart) but had barely spoken to, until that day.

Agatha Christie was the subject of my poem, and I wish I still had it, because I thought it was brilliant; I remember the last line, and may one day attempt to recreate it in its entirety.  But I digress.  GW's was about Larry McMurtry, and I was instantly convinced I *had* to read everything I could get my hands on by this cowboy author he so colorfully described, beginning with Leaving Cheyenne (later turned into a film called Lovin' Molly), about two men (Gid and Johnny) in love with the same woman, told in three segments from each character's point of view.  To this day, I can still quote a favorite passage, spoken by a father to his son (one of the men in the love triangle):

"A woman's love is like the morning dew, it's just as apt to settle on a horse turd as it is a rose."

I *did* immerse myself in McMurtry's catalog, which I discovered to be dichotomous, one tangent being cowboy/Western novels (eventually leading to Lonesome Dove) and the other contemporary fiction, starting with All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers, the most famous of which was Terms of Endearment.  I loved, and am grateful for, them all... 💞

Two asides:

~ GW and I became "an item" because of the the class assignment, lasting at least a year.

~ I am pretty sure GW *never* read any Agatha Christie... 😃

NR:  Cat's Eye by Margaret Atwood

SONG:  The Streets of Laredo by Frank H. Maynard, sung here by Johnny Cash and Marty Robbins [one of my father's favorite songs, which I still know every word to!]

BOOK:  Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry [fan that I am, I had absolutely no clue this was the first in a tetralogy!  Did you?  I was already planning to re-read Lonesome Dove, but it appears I have three more after that waiting for me... 📚]

POEM:  The Never-Ending Serial by Red Hawk

When I was a boy, the Varsity Theater

was a mile from our house. Saturdays

we were allowed to walk there, and for a dime

we got a cowboy double-feature and

a long-running serial, which involved

an incredibly stupid, weak and helpless

but beautiful woman, upon whom

unimaginable indignities and cruelties were

enacted by darkly evil men with mustaches.

Week after week we waited for her to die

but at the last impossible moment, tied

to railroad tracks for what reason we could

not possibly imagine, and with a fast freight

bearing down upon her, a heroic white man,

he was always white and so was she, 

leaped onto the tracks and

ripped her from the jaws of impending death.

Imagine what the young girls in attendance

were led to believe about their femininity and

how, as long as they lived, they were trained

never to doubt, but to wait for that white man and when

they never showed up, imagine their disillusionment,

the bitter sorrow of their loneliness and despair.

And the young boys in attendance, we who

sat enthralled and believing, imagine

the burden of our lives when we were unable,

fumbling and shaking, to untie those ropes

and were struck down by the thundering train.

QUOTE:  If you want any one thing too badly, it’s likely to turn out to be a disappointment. The only healthy way to live life is to learn to like all the little everyday things – like a sip of good whiskey in the evening, a soft bed, a glass of buttermilk, or a feisty gentleman like myself.” ~ Gus McCrae

Because (The Beatles)

TUT: A Note from the Universe (yesterday):

What if, Susan, all that you had to look forward to were the things that are free, like sunrises, wagging tails, holding hands, and your imagination. Would it all be worth it?

Probably.

What if you could trade-in some of your free stuff for fabulous wealth, fulfilling work, gorgeous looks, or anything else that your heart desired? Would it all be worth it?

Does a bear sleep in the woods? Is the Pope Catholic? Would you like syrup with your French Toast?

Visualize, Susan. Before the price goes up.

The Universe

Susan, not only are the best things in life free, but you can cash them in for stuff and still have lots left over!

I feel lazy and and loose-limbed and loved, oh my! - and guess what we'd already had for breakfast before I read this?!? (French Toast, of course... :-)

SONG: Because by The Beatles

BOOK: Every Day I Love You More (Just Not Today): Lessons in Loving One Person for Life by Nancy Shulins

POEM: Terms of Endearment by Sue Ellen Thompson

Sweet biscuit of my life,

I've been thinking of your smile
and how I'd steal a little bite
of it if you were here; of the delights

I've known in the alleyway between
the whitewashed storefronts of your teeth;
of how I've pressed one smithereen
after another of mille-feuille, mousseline

of late-night conversation upon your lips,

forever poised at the brink of kissdom,

their slightest sigh enough to lift

a tableskirt. Perfectest pumpkin

in the patch, your heft on mine

is what I crave, your brows so fine

I could not carve them with a steak knife.

You have the acorn eyes

of the football season, the ass

of an autumn afternoon, of boys en masse

in soccer shorts. Yours is the vast

contained candescence of a Titian under glass,

it is the gold leaf laid

by February sun, the lemonade's

pale wash in August. Should you fade,

like sun on windowsills crocheted

with shadow, then suddenly gone dark,

your face will leave its watermark

upon this page, which is already part

of love's confection, our little work of art.

QUOTE: "The eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them: there ought to be as many for love." ~ Margaret Atwood

Better Off Broke (Danny Schmidt)

Tuesday, March 10 was the official CD Release of Danny Schmidt's Instead the Forest Rose to Sing... and this past Saturday, March 14, I had the honor of presenting him (in a co-bill with Nick Annis) in my concert series - it's taken me this long to revive my vocabulary in order to write about the magical weekend!

I've spoken of my love for Danny Schmidt's music throughout this blog - he is as dear as he is talented, a sentiment reinforced during his recent stay. He made a point to show up early so we had time to visit before driving to the Labyrinth Cafe later that day - he also offered to help chop or stir, as he was keeping me company in the kitchen while I made a batch of pasta primavera for the performers and volunteers (I didn't let him... but still... :-)

I had e-mailed Danny a few weeks before the gig, telling him how much, and why, I loved the song Accidentally Daisies on his new CD - I also mentioned that Elizabeth, who was accompanying Nick the night of the show, played fiddle/violin and, with Danny's blessing, I could drop her a note asking her to work up a string part for the second half of the song (stating of course no pressure/no worries if not). What could have turned into a "train wreck" (Danny's words) evolved into a stunning collaboration which meant the world to me - when the threesome (Danny, Elizabeth and Nick) did his Company of Friends as their encore, I had goosebumps on top of goosebumps...

We all later segued to Peter Pan Diner (a post-concert tradition) for food and chat, Danny and I getting home very late, only to have to rise early the next morning, Danny to drive to Tampa for a house concert and me to head to church to facilitate a service - before he left, I asked him to sign a CD for a friend and a poster for me... and I gave him a present to pass on to his sweetie who had inspired the song: a small bowl from my wedding china, with a border of daisies (thanks, CE... :-)

I've said it before and I'll say it again - I am a very blessed and lucky woman...

P.S. SMM here, here, here, here and here...

SONG: Better Off Broke by Danny Schmidt

BOOK: Money, and the Law of Attraction: Learning to Attract Wealth, Health, and Happiness by Esther Hicks, Jerry Hicks

POEM: The Moment by Margaret Atwood

The moment when, after many years

of hard work and a long voyage

you stand in the centre of your room,

house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,

knowing at last how you got there,

and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose

their soft arms from around you,

the birds take back their language,

the cliffs fissure and collapse,

the air moves back from you like a wave

and you can't breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.

You were a visitor, time after time

climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.

We never belonged to you.

You never found us.

It was always the other way round.

QUOTE: "Money and time are the heaviest burdens of life and... the unhappiest of all mortals are those who have more of either than they know how to use." ~ Samuel Johnson

Spring (Richard Shindell)

From Today's Writer's Almanac:

Today is the first day of spring, the vernal equinox in the Northern Hemisphere. The Earth is tilted on its axis, so as it travels around the Sun each pole is sometimes tilted towards the Sun and sometimes tilted away. It is this tilt that causes the seasons, as well as the shortening and lengthening of daylight hours. On this day, the north and south poles are equally distant from the sun, so we will have almost exactly the same amount of daytime as nighttime.

I love living in South Florida (we moved here 16 years ago this month) but the seasons are not easily discernible - when we lived in Atlanta, the four quadrants of the annual calendar exhibited visible lines of demarcation: fall's crunchy leaves, winter's frosted lawns, spring's bursting dogwoods and summer's oppressive humidity.

It's basically always warm, green and flowering in my part of the state (not that there's anything wrong with that!) - in fact, I, who have had a black thumb for most of my life, now appreciate being able to make almost any plant flourish under my oftentimes neglectful care. We have a yard full of various hibiscus, bougainvillea, bromeliads, crotons, an assortment of palms, ixora, liriope, thumbergia, and so many others - suffice it to say if it's vegetation, it grows with little or no help. I even have a gardenia bush on the side of the house that blooms for only a month (mid-April to mid-May), although it whacked out this year, started producing blossoms in January and it hasn't stopped yet - what a treat!

Spring is a time of rebirth, renewal and reawakening and I seem to be going through a bit of that myself... trying to find my way back from scramble mode to equilibrium, starting with cutting back my working-outside-the-home hours (soon, I hope) and downsizing my volunteer/committee work - it's continued with reclaiming my home office/guest bedroom (after Sarah's departure) and an ongoing effort to purge/consolidate/streamline. I appear to be breathing more and stressing less - I can already envision more reading for pleasure and walking for health... :-)

I have a calligraphic print on my dining room wall entitled Chaos: Where Great Dreams Begin - the text reads: "Before a great vision can become reality there may be difficulty. Before a person begins a great endeavor, they may encounter chaos. As a new plant breaks the ground with difficulty, foreshadowing the huge tree, so must we sometimes push against difficulty in bringing forth our dreams."

Here's/cheers to embracing change in order to achieve vision - puuuuuuuuuusssssssshhhhhhhhhhh!

SONG: Spring by Richard Shindell

BOOK: Silent Spring by Rachel Carson

POEM: Starting With Little Things by William Stafford

Love the earth like a mole,
fur-near. Nearsighted,
hold close the clods,
their fine-print headlines.
Pat them with soft hands --

Like spades, but pink and loving; they
break rock, nudge giants aside,
affable plow.
Fields are to touch;
each day nuzzle your way.

Tomorrow the world.

QUOTE: In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt." ~ Margaret Atwood