today, alas
2.20 am- I got up to pace the floor, seeing
how the moon was a crescent form, beautiful
silver - its darkened place as listening outward
to the spirit world. Hearing rushing stars, melodies
harmonies untold
9 am- a day of intense focus, the world outside
of snow didn't seem to exist. How bitter it is
how worried I am with its cold, an arctic arrived
and lasting on. How material worries flood me,
the in between living between what is to arrive.
so, one writes and writes to forget, but remember
past joys, when what is now- is frigid snow covered.
my grandson came today, and he is growing tall. He has
kindly eyes, a British air to him, that no one here in rural Maine
understands - not many, but some see it. A holding aloof himself'
yet deeply attentive none the less.
I'd give many things to hear a British-no better an Irish songbird and
feel the gentle spring mists there.
Hours of writing! My bliss! I have understood that for some
reason, many reasons, music waits. I have to finish- this. My poor
instruments have suffered with the cold too.
10 pm. schlaf gut.