My dear friend Kate posted today about juggling work and
writing and life. The tension she describes is probably familiar to anyone who balances work and art, practical life and spiritual life.
At the end of the post, she included the poem she wrote for me on my birthday this year, which is pretty stunning. The poem begins like this:
When you are walking wide streets under palms
or leaning forward at an outdoor table,
let the sun steep you in the gentle heat
of argument. A breeze lifts linen from you.
Bowls of dates hold corners of translations,
and muezzins call, not far away...
The post is here -- I recommend the whole thing, prose and poetry alike. I'm especially glad that she posted the poem, because it's exactly the benediction I feel that I need as I get ready to depart for Jerusalem.
T-minus one week and counting. My to-do lists proliferate like mushrooms after a rain. Today I planted a small hydrangea on the front side of the house -- my mother-in-law brought it to us in a pot to adorn our Pesach table, and today I finally had time to dig a little hole and give it a real home. Planting it felt like a good reminder that although I'm preparing to fly away for the summer, my roots here will sustain me.