Albert Einstein once said that curiosity is sacred. When I awakened here at Crystal Lake I wondered if it would be cold enough for ice. On soft quiet feet I opened the bedroom door, stepped to the big window and found the lake in a fluid state.
Yesterday was difficult for Cedar and me. She came over early for breakfast. Later we talked about my departure and return. "I'll miss you." she told me several times. "I'll be thinking of you, too," I replied. "My eyes will be red from crying," she said. "I love you, too, Cedar." Then she said "April is a long time." She asked for a plastic bag, walked about putting things in it and went outside. Soon she returned. "I'm home," she shouted. She did this several times and with each return I greeted her with an eager welcome and a warm hug. I told her I would send cards during my absence. I must not disappoint her.
The sun has burst from low gray clouds and an explosion of gold has flung itself over the water. The great full spray of a white pine hangs between me and the far shore. It makes me think of how we cross over to the other side.
It was "My Antonia" that endeared Willa Cather as another literary mentor. Now I have read all her novels and "Obscure Destinies". I am looking for "April Twilights" and "The Troll Garden", her poetry collections. I have been encouraged by her promise that "shapes and scenes that have teased the mind for years" can be caught and penned to the paper page at last. How exciting for me. But I also recall that Harriet Doerr wrote her first novel "Stones for Ibarra" in her seventh decade.
After breakfast we had teatime with readings. I selected "A Meeting" by Mary Oliver. Several more of Mary's poems were read. Dar read a poem from Freya Manfred's "Swimming With a Hundred Year Old Turtle". We can all hear Freya's breath "flying from it's cage of bones."
I am in the midst of a gathering of good hearts with good minds. Here is the feast I have hungered for... and soon there will be turkey, too.
Yesterday was difficult for Cedar and me. She came over early for breakfast. Later we talked about my departure and return. "I'll miss you." she told me several times. "I'll be thinking of you, too," I replied. "My eyes will be red from crying," she said. "I love you, too, Cedar." Then she said "April is a long time." She asked for a plastic bag, walked about putting things in it and went outside. Soon she returned. "I'm home," she shouted. She did this several times and with each return I greeted her with an eager welcome and a warm hug. I told her I would send cards during my absence. I must not disappoint her.
The sun has burst from low gray clouds and an explosion of gold has flung itself over the water. The great full spray of a white pine hangs between me and the far shore. It makes me think of how we cross over to the other side.
It was "My Antonia" that endeared Willa Cather as another literary mentor. Now I have read all her novels and "Obscure Destinies". I am looking for "April Twilights" and "The Troll Garden", her poetry collections. I have been encouraged by her promise that "shapes and scenes that have teased the mind for years" can be caught and penned to the paper page at last. How exciting for me. But I also recall that Harriet Doerr wrote her first novel "Stones for Ibarra" in her seventh decade.
After breakfast we had teatime with readings. I selected "A Meeting" by Mary Oliver. Several more of Mary's poems were read. Dar read a poem from Freya Manfred's "Swimming With a Hundred Year Old Turtle". We can all hear Freya's breath "flying from it's cage of bones."
I am in the midst of a gathering of good hearts with good minds. Here is the feast I have hungered for... and soon there will be turkey, too.
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