A fresh wind of jasmine-scented air – I throw
windows wide, run outside to breathe deeply
and rejoice in the essence of spring; read the
paper standing in the sun, lay down in the sun-
room and slept during the afternoon
Awake I gather jasmine, take blooms into my
sitting room, pearls on my lamp, silver threads
like dewy cobwebs on transparent fabric; run
to the wooden deck, practise reciting the French
alphabet, counting un to cent* au Francais as
Numbers always trip me up, replace coarse
winter sheets with delightful satin, air dogs’
blankets, drag a case full of books from my
work cupboard into the guest room, place
suitcases in the car to bring more papers
Home – they’ll be destroyed at work; can-
not bear parting with them after filing trans-
lation sheets enthusiastically, diplomas and
poetry among them, all to be salvaged before
throwing the rest away
I plead for a chance to keep and sort them,
looking at dreams - and dreaming again…
* One to hundred
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Dying Eventually
Listening to my favourite Internet guru, quite clearly this works for many people as they repeat the jargon flawlessly and I wish I could ge...
-
Looking for the good, ignoring the sad (anything we dislike), according to Abraham’s (Esther Hick’s) website: “You cannot look at what you ...
-
Long before Akon landed on planet earth, Elizabeth was conscious of his existence, she saw her studies in meteorology as preparation to mee...
-
Finally some fun, a phishing expedition launched by a solemn voice on my cell-phone, telling me that he, well- wisher and altruist, stopped ...
No comments:
Post a Comment