Stuck a Jane Smiley novel (a very old one and not one of her best) in my bag and walked downtown, the temperature just about perfect, light breeze, no chill, not hot. Lateish lunch at Burgers 'n' Brew, across from Central Park, where I sat outside in the spring air, eating slowly and reading. Was offered a refill on my diet Coke, and took it so I could keep reading. Finally stirred myself to walk to the bank to make a bike club deposit, then windowshopped along Second St—Acquarius with its crystals and incense (it always smells wonderful in there), DeLuna's, filled with bling, The Naturalist (windchimes and pretty dishes decorated with bird eggs) and then to the Avid Reader, where I bought a book of Mary Oliver's poems. On to Samira's and to the Paint Chip, then slowly home. Everyone's garden is abloom, lots of roses already and, my favorite, the bearded iris—so many colors, each so clear and delicate. Rode my bike to P & N's to feed Diego and Charlie, play with them, check on the garden, take in the sheets from the clothesline. There, too, flowers in a riot of color—bright orange poppies, deep blue ceanothus and more iris.
Years ago, I saw these lines by Gary Snyder from a poem called, I think, For the Children. I wrote them on a yellow Post-It and stuck it on my Sierra Club calendar over my desk at work, where it stayed and stayed, moving from momth to month and year to year:
Stay together
Learn the flowers
Go light.
And this evening, I read this, from Sometimes, by Mary Oliver:
Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
I'm looking for another Post-It note.
No comments:
Post a Comment