Here Comes the Rain Again
Rain means spring is coming, doesn't it?
Raindrops slide down the balcony glass, collecting drops on the way to form little rivulets. The sky is heavy today. Rain-soaked and grey-white, its continuous blanket covers the blue sky. I scan the sky, looking for gaps or texture but no luck. Who knows? Maybe it will clear later? Or not.
I long for a little sun today. A little glimpse that spring will come. Intellectually, I know it will but today my body is feeling differently—it’s not accepting of the chilly temperatures and unstable weather despite the days getting longer. How do I reconcile the two, my brain and my body? Or shall I just allow them to be at slight odds, accept that my body needs more signs than an earlier sunrise and sunset?
Acceptance can be difficult. It means sitting with the thing, the feeling. Stretching and breathing, my (almost) daily yoga practice has allowed a more balanced flow of information—the intellectual and the emotional— an open-mindedness that’s an embodiment of this flow. By leaning into the present, the feelings and moments, each moment, I accept how I am right now. Moment after moment. Despite the weather and seasons, nature’s contrary offerings. So it’s this I turn to to find reconciliation.
~~~
Snow lay thickly on the ground earlier this week. Nature’s frozen beauty. I got a brain freeze when I wore a too-thin beanie. Today, the rain is slowly melting the snow away.
I also felt warmth in the sun this week. Still rugged up in my winter coat, scarf, beanie (a thicker one) and gloves, warmth kissed my cheeks as the clouds retreated for a day, allowing us a glimpse of the happy blue heavens. I accept the sign, the weak warmth, that spring is on her way.
A rainy Saturday is okay, I guess. I managed a walk, early-ish before the wind picked up and the rain intensified, visiting the gusty town square to buy some bread rolls from the brave woman who’s out there every Saturday, snow, rain, hail or shine.
I wished my sister a happy birthday, for yesterday, the time difference and our work commitments meant a delayed chat. I’m writing. I’ll read. Drink tea. Watch the rivulets of water down the windowpanes. Listen to the tick of the clock. Perhaps even take another walk.
Enjoy the moment—each moment—one after another.
Stay well,
Lisa x
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I’m Writing
Blue sky reveries
Trace a homesick heart’s journey,
Weaving in and out,
Memories and daydreams,
the tilt of your head,
the glint in your eye,
the laugh on your lips,
Hearts, stained by sunrise,
Kissed by moonlight,
Bathed in the glow
Of a summer’s afternoon.
Water laps against the rocks,
A reminder of precious moments,
of feeling,
of the ebb and flow
of life.
I’m Listening
I’ve been listening to On Being with Krista Tippet for a few years now. I cherry-pick episodes and this one with poet, Ada Limòn is just wonderful - uplifting, enlightening, expansive and intimate. Let me know what you think!
My mum, sister, and a good friend have all seen Florence + The Machine live in that past month—on two different continents! I’ve had her latest album on repeat this week because I wasn’t able to join them.
🤔 Question: is anyone interested in an audio reading of this publication? The platform allows for it and I’m curious to know if anyone would listen. You can answer via email or write a comment. Thx!
Nice catch with the Limón interview. My mind normally starts wandering within a few minutes with podcasts, so I really appreciate ones like this that post complete transcripts, so I can skim over the boring intros, for example.
Some of Limón’s poems feel a little muffled in places, but her “The Quiet Machine,” despite being prose, is a zinger, with its tension building almost unnoticed until the explosive shout at the end. Here it is if readers don’t want to search for it in the transcript:
https://www.best-poems.net/ada-lim-n/the-quiet-machine.html
I’m always a little suspicious of poets who cite big-time canonical poems as their starting point in poetry, as she does here with Bishop’s “One Art.” Limón’s predecessor laureate once removed, Tracy K. Smith, cited Dickinson’s “I’m Nobody! Who Are You?” when asked a similar question. I’d like to hear just one poet say, oh, I don’t really remember, or maybe just admit it was the rhymes in “Love Me Do” or something.
Another great recent interview:
https://johnaugust.com/2023/scriptnotes-episode-583-the-one-with-sarah-polley-transcript
Wonderful photos and words, Lisa. Also: I love Krista Tippet!