Tuesday, December 4, 2012

reminded

I drive every morning past the woods.  The trees are sirens but I go on.  Clouds and light make me wish for canvas and paint and some idea of what I might do with them but then there are plans for this day.  I have mine and it has its own.


In the end it is not a plan, it's only squash, fennel, onions, and the one certainty -- some kind of dough, which takes a very long hour.  We sit and wait (Edith Piaf) and then I am moved in such a way that things seem to come together on their own accord and I am reminded that there are a hundred ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

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