How’s your month being going?

If it’s been calm, peaceful and predictable, I think you are quite unusual.

In the last two weeks, I have experienced two family birthdays, my husband’s retirement, a week’s visit with a friend out of town, a neighbor’s adult child’s untimely death, a dear friend injured in a car accident, my eldest child’s graduation from medical school, my youngest child home for the graduation rear-ended in a car accident, probably totaling the car (he’s ok), and a week enduring a miserable cold, including a visit to urgent care. Oh, and my Facebook account was hacked; after several attempts to clear it, I had to deactivate it until I can figure it out.

(And of course the deaths of Prince and Daniel Berrigan.)

So when I sit down to write this blog, I chuckle as “blog” triggers images of me blearily, foggily, slogging through a boggy mind to make this month’s offering.

Therefore, to spare that soggy mess, I will simply offer this poem, Aware, by Denise Levertov. It comes to mind because I like it, but also because for me the peace between the maelstrom of events has been the glorious spring—the light, the breeze, the tulips, daffodils, and now lilacs (I can’t wait to smell them when I recover from my cold).

When I opened the door

I found the vine leaves

speaking among themselves in abundant

whispers.

      My presence made them

hush their green breath,

embarrassed, the way

humans stand up, buttoning their jackets,

acting as if they were leaving anyway, as if

the conversation had ended

just before you arrived.

            I liked

the glimpse I had, though,

of their obscure

gestures. I liked the sound

of such private voices. Next time

I’ll move like cautious sunlight, open

the door by fractions, eavesdrop

peacefully. 

If you’ve overheard any creatures’ conversations lately I’d love to hear about it.  (Or if you’d like to tell me about your own maelstrom.)