I belong to a group which swaps all kinds of things, crafted items, post cards, sometimes poems. A couple years ago in a swap of poems a young woman I really did not know - it's an online group - send me a entire little book of poems she had copied from I know not where, all in her neat and legible printing. Nearly all the poems and poets were unknown to me. I have the little book in my OPP folder (Other People's Poetry) and I open it only once in a while. I've just been reading through it again. Sometimes a gift, even a very casual one, gives and continues to give so much pleasure.
Here is a nice little poem that does that thing I envy poets being able to do: capture the wonderfulness of a single moment. (My own impulse is to go on and one about a thing.) It's incredibly hard to just said something and capture what I suppose some would call a zen moment. The poet here is Richard Jones.
I have been studying the difference
between solitude and loneliness,
telling the story of my life
to the clean white towels taken warm
from the dryer.
I carry them through the house
as though they were my children
asleep in my arms.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!