Another hectic Monday and I don’t when I’m going to find the time to write (beyond my daily morning pages, of course!). Catching up after a week out of the office means meetings and emails…so many, many emails.
Life goes on, and the pace only quickens when you’re jumping time zones and dodging carry-on restrictions. And while I certainly felt a sense of accomplishment in continuing my daily entries from outposts along the US Airways southwest flight plan, I also know that I must keep my momentum going – even when all I really want to do is head for a sunny beach, cold beer in hand.
So instead of getting too deep into a discussion of mentors and motivators today, instead I offer up snippet of my past. I tricky little poem that I still can’t seem to get just right. I know what I want to say, but I just can’t seem to bend the words to my will. And so I keep trying, changing tenses and molding rhythms. Seems appropriate. After all, aren’t well just a work in progress?
By Elizabeth Cutright
I stretch my hand across the clover,
and although it’s wet with dew –
I feel your cool dark hair
wrapped ’round my fingers.
I stare up at the bluest sky,
and although the bright sun glows –
it pales against memories:
Bright and shining eyes.
Your smell, your touch, your taste,
You fill the air.
Seep through the walls.
So when they say,
“that’s it, one touch, one taste, one smile.”
I stretch my hand across the clover and I know –
no world’s heaven could be more.
7/17/97 (Rev June 2012)
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