by Esther Morgan
I've been doing this ever since I was a girl -
stepping into a moment
like an empty platform
or a summer garden
just before the dew has lifted -
as if I could dare you to appear.
They say not being given
what we pray for
is also an answer: the blue sky at dawn
with its wafer of moon,
the embankment buddleia
burning with admirals.
- from the book, Grace by Esther Morgan
I've popped the book up on my recommended shelf, above. You might remember I posted a poem by her a week or two ago, titled "Grace." I liked that poem so much, I bought the book. The cover, admittedly, was the clincher. It's lovely. The book is short, gem-like. I've already dog-eared many pages, many poems. And it's strange, but reading the poems, though I know I haven't, I feel like I've read them before. Not in the sense that she's covering old ground, but that I feel I've known these poems before knowing them. In a good, eerie sense.
Today's photos were taken last weekend, before the days of snow and rain and cold.
And now I'm feeling like I didn't spend enough time this summer sitting outside and really drinking things in. That I didn't take the time. Not enough.
All summer I kept thinking we should paint the blue bench another colour. But never could come up with what colour it ought to be.
The prayer flags Rob got for me last Christmas have really brought me much peace looking out at them in the sun, watching them sway in the breeze.
And this guy, always joyful, always happy. Which helps immensely.
He always remembers to stop and smell the flowers.