Day 4. Kind of a low-point day; hours spent dealing with the patient's fraught state of mind and the caregivers' sheer exhaustion. If I could sleep at night, I'd be a better nurse. But.
Anyway, today. Scrub down the house. Try to reclaim one of my mother's flower gardens. Or probably something else entirely different will intervene, and I'll clash the gears and speed off in that direction.
For the moment, I am sitting by myself with this cup of coffee. A crow is barking in a white pine. A dog is snoring behind a chair. Small blessings.
1 comment:
I've rediscovered Wendell Berry lately (rather, his book jumped out at me when I was in the library a few weeks ago). I am loving his Sabbaths poems. This one jumped at me after reading your post (Sabbaths 1979):
I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.
Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives a while in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings, and I hear its song.
Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its song.
After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.
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