Friday, June 4, 2010


Mae Sarton had received bad news. Her dear friend Eugenia was dying. She wrote of her, "...a radiant spirit, torn by life but always responding to beauty..., having the power to choose and take the path toward elevation rather than despair. She sowed light... light like some miraculous seed." Mae was so busy that she penned, "Is there to be no time for mourning? No time for poetry?" Oh, how that resonates with me.
As Klinkenborg stood waiting for the sunrise in Mt "A cardinal starts to spear the air with his voice."
Marlene S called last night and set up a date at Shelley's tonight at 6. She said she likes to watch old movies. "I do, too! Those wonderful love scenes make me remember when I got all those passionate kisses. Now I can't even find someone who wants to hold my hand." Marlene gasped and the phone fell silent for a long moment. Then she said shyly, "I didn't know anyone else thought about that. I remember those kind of kisses, too."
I don't mean the sloppy stuff you see today where there seems to be a contest to see who will suck the face off the other. But those gentle, wandering butterfly kisses that give you wings and carry you to ecstasy. It's true that we are elders now but we don't forget that we are also romantics.
I watched "Arthur" on netflix and heard him say, "Not all drunks are poets. Some of us drink because we are not poets."