by Anne Sexton
There is joy
in the hair I brush each morning,
in the Cannon towel, newly washed,
that I rub my body with each morning,
in the chapel of eggs I cook
in the outcry from the kettle
that heats my coffee
in the spoon and the chair
that cry "hello there, Anne"
in the godhead of the table
that I set my silver, plate, cup upon
All this is God,
right here in my pea-green house
and I mean,
though often forget,
to give thanks,
to faint down by the kitchen table
in a prayer of rejoicing
as the holy birds at the kitchen window
peck into their marriage of seeds.
So while I think of it,
let me paint a thank-you on my palm
for this God, this laughter of the morning,
lest it go unspoken.
The Joy that isn't shared, I've heard,
I'm back, dear readers, after a brief and unexpected hiatus. I won't bore you with the details here, but suffice to say the reasons for my short disappearance involved a computer crash, and a diagnosis of Bell's Palsy. I also have the frequently accompanying flu virus for fun. So, this is all temporary and recoverable, and I shall be fine. Meanwhile, I have been learning: patience, that the beauty of the world carries on, about the compassion and thoughtfulness of friends, about keeping my sense of humour, and about the importance of regularly backing up my hard drive.
Of all my hilarious symptoms, the one that's dragging me down is the inability to close my left eye independently. Photographers will immediately understand this hindrance. The doctor suggested if it gets out of hand I could scotch tape it down. Hasn't yet come to that. Yet. Long bouts on the computer are not recommended.
Meanwhile, these photos I took before the various calamities. Some in morning light, some in evening.