Sunday, May 6, 2012

Picking fiddleheads, planting potatoes, mowing grass, hanging laundry, marinating chicken, reading the novels of Iris Murdoch, playing badminton, reading the poetry of Anne Carson, cleaning the bathroom, thinking about writings of Emily Bronte, worrying about not getting enough done.

from The Glass Essay 
Anne Carson 
It is very cold
walking into the long scraped April wind.
At this time of year there is no sunset
just some movements inside the light and then a sinking away.

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