Some busy days feel busier than others, not because of things to do but because of intensity of things that happen. I often don't know if the intensity is a function of attention paid or the things themselves. Even when some of the conversations were about sadness, the day feels alive and good.
A poem for today about the flow of life from Thomas Lux:
A Little Tooth
Your baby grows a tooth, then two,
then four, then five, then she wants some meat
directly from the bone. It's all
over: she'll learn some words, she'll fall
in love with cretins, dolts, a sweet
talker on his way to jail. And you,
your wife, get old, flyblown and rue
nothing you did. You loved, your feet
are sore. It's dusk. Your daughter's tall.
Sirinya shoots -
2 hours ago