Wednesday, April 18, 2012

growing wings

Seeing for a Moment


I thought I was growing wings—
it was a cocoon.

I thought, now is the time to step
into the fire—
it was deep water.

{read the rest of the poem here}

That seeing IS for a moment.  That how we see ourselves can only be momentary, can only be afterwards.  Oh yes, the wings I thought I was growing, no, it's actually a cocoon.

I have the most ridiculous cold right now.  My iron levels are in the drink (have just started taking iron pills).  Feel happy though, strangely, knowing that I've been so exhausted because of the low iron.  And now this cold.  And that there's an end in sight.

The above photos are little glimpses into our home.  You can see parts of R's paintings.  The typewriter is the one he painted me last year as a Christmas present.  The top one is an older painting that didn't sell which is of lilies in a vase with incredible light.  (You can only see the shadow).  The wings beside it we bought at a local garden store that shops the flea markets in France every winter.  I have a smallish obsession with wings.

Anyway, I keep taking photos of the turquoise table, the laughing buddha, the blue typewriter.  It's different at different times of the day.  Sometimes there are flowers on the table, sometimes not.  I've taken shots of it up close, further away. The same old stuff that we've had forever just nudged a little, or seen from a different angle or distance.

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