Thank You, Thank You.
*
For the tender mercies.
For the grit and gristle.
For the nights we lay awake. The plain blue sky. Cold, clean water in a tin cup and the taste of iron and moss. For tragedy averted, and for tragedy. For our thick-headedness. For the glimpses of holy things and the small bell that rings in the center of our souls and the way light falls and rain. For the sound of surf on a desolate shore. For family and for loneliness and skinned knees and the way you break us and break us and break us without ceasing.
*
posted by tearful dishwasher at 7:04 AM
6 Comments:
lovely.
Thank you for being out there in the world.
Knowing you're out there somewhere makes the world seem kinder and smaller and almost bearable.
Yes. For holy men and protectors I give great thanks.
for tragedy averted and for tragedy
the small bell that rings in the center of our souls
beautiful
I lurk around your beautiful site.
Could you tell me the name of the maker of that gorgeous piece 'domestic interior'? Please?
I am profoundly grateful to each of you for coming by and saying such nice things, and I am ashamed at my churlish bad-neighborliness at not thanking you each earlier.
My bad.
But, truly, thank you.
Anonymous, this is one of my pieces. Although it's an early one, so I did steal the drawing of the embrace from some illustration and put it in one of my photographs. So mine, but not mine. Impulsive theft and compulsive reimagining. Grist for the mill. I feel simultaneous pride, guilt, and amazement.
I'm glad you like it.
I feel very strongly about it myself, but I don't feel as if I'm responsible for it.
A good way to proceed in a lot of ways...
Post a Comment
<< Home