Roly Poly

We had some downtime, and some malware, and some other things going on. We were knocked down, and we sat there for awhile, stupid and dazed. Now we rise, we open our eyes again, and we continue onward. I leave you with a photo of Zephyr, tuckered out at the end of the day on his first birthday, content and snuggled against his loving mama.

Year One
by Franz Wright

I was still standing
on a northern corner.

/

Moonlit winter clouds the color of the desperation of wolves.

/

Proof
of Your existence? There is nothing
but.

It’s National Poetry Day (at least in England) –
share some of your favourite verse.

From: Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
by: Wallace Stevens

I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

Life is a sieve, time flows through like water leaving the detritus of moments;
some small memories, a flash of joy; mostly just
debris, passing unsifted, glimpses of days come one after another.

It’s been six months since last I posted.

Six months in a thirty-one year life isn’t much compared to six months in a nine month life; I mean, that’s life times three right there. I won’t play catch-up here, not all at once, but try and post more regularly going forward. Zephyr is, as one might guess, much grown, though as much a joy as ever. I love to watch him grow as much as I feel pangs of loss for each stage of his life as it passes by, never to come again.

He smiles a lot, and he cries some, and he eats crackers and is a certified explorer of all things floor; he’s his own rhythm section, and a singer, and he coos and chortles and burbles and burps, hums and thumps and sniggers and sighs, yawns and stretches, quivers his eyebrows, squinches his nose, sticks out his tongue, and yells to raise the dickens.

In short, he’s awesome. All the time awesome. Awesomely awesome.

Hopefully he can keep that up for the next seventeen plus years.