home in the world

There is no longer sadza on my dinner plate.

I have turned over my SALTer badge and am officially an MCC alumnus.

However, the soul-searching part of my journey continues, here in the stark beauty of the Colorado desert instead of the lush desert of Zimbabwe.

I’m sitting in a cabin in the mountains surrounded by the dear smell of pine (and now that I’m here think I may have pined for an occasional whiff of deer) and feeling that sense of being home. As I sit here, though, I realize that feeling is one not wholly attached to a place. Yes Colorado is a place where I belong, having come back to my parents and my brothers and my room and the pine trees and early morning mountain air, but I also felt that in British Columbia visiting grandparents and in Goshen drinking in the love of friends. I know I’ll feel it again next week in Oregon with another set of friends as I float down a river in celebration of a precious friend’s new life with her new husband. In every place nothing has made me or will make me feel more at “home” than the sound of familiar laughter. I am inexpressibly grateful for that sound in my life.

My parents and I went to the coast near Vancouver to enjoy a little sea air in our hair and fish and chips in our bellies. I ventured from our folding chair station on the beach down to the chilly water where I was joined by my dad. On our way back we came across a giant tractor tire that had obviously been there for a long time, collecting algae and sinking deeper and deeper into the sand. I peered down in the middle and discovered a whole ecosystem independent of the surrounding pools. There were regular(?) crabs that scurried away when my shadow fell over their world, but the hermit crabs stayed put, doing their thing as I watched, fascinated. One hermit crab in particular held my attention. He or she was studiously cleaning out an empty shell (identical to the one it currently inhabited, but what do I know about crab life?) in what looked like an attempt to move house. The crab made several attempts to do this by coming partly out of its shell, then going back inside. I was really excited because I’ve never seen a hermit crab actually switch shells; I think of it as something that happens under the waves in the dark of night when no one human eye is around to witness. Finally, after four or five tries, the little guy/girl heaved itself out of its old shell and into its new home, just like that. I was awed in a childlike way but also a bit astounded, in the grown up way of a woman looking for her new home. How does this little crab just up and find its new home so easily while I’m looking for mine, trying to learn where and who that is? I have so much “processing” to do, so much thinking about my year in Zimbabwe before I can learn all the lessons I’m meant to learn and tap into all the good, gooey parts of me that I hope were unearthed while I discovered Africa. As I watched this crab scurry away from its now defunct shell I couldn’t help but feel like I was imitating it in transition, waving my naked vulnerable butt in the air, trying to find a suitable home to plunk it into. 

The thing is, I’m thoroughly enjoying being vulnerable. I don’t know where my life is headed just yet, how long I’ll be living in my parents’ basement, if I’ll be able to afford health insurance when I turn 26 in few months. And I’m riding that emotional roller coaster that comes with reverse culture shock – sometimes I just gotta cry. But throughout all of this uncertainty weaves a thread of adventure and trust and love, not to a certain place or people (though I am nothing without the people who have made me by loving me) but with a feeling of belonging to the world, to my life whatever it looks like or wherever it takes me. I belong to far more than I am or can be. I am excited for what will become of me. I know I can choose what to include and what to let go of, who to love and how to be the person I can be proud of.

I am capable of great joy, as giver and receiver.

Monday 27 May, 2013

This was simply a day that will make me miss Zimbabwe………….

I woke up at my normal time, about 7, had my instant coffee and got ready for work (sans bath, which is very un-African of me. It has a little bit to do with saving water and a lot bit to do with me being lazy and not wanting to brave being wet on a cold winter morning). I left the house and walked a ways down the road to the place where I catch my lifts into town. Lots of times the kombis will drive around looking for people going to town until they fill up, since it’s about a 30 min drive there. So often times I’ll hop in along the way. This particular morning the conductor of a bright orange kombi whose music I could down the road called out to me “Town mama?” I hesitated because there were only a few people inside meaning it could take forever to fill up, but it looked like a fun ride so I nodded and they pulled over to let me in. As the door slid open the music came blaring out. I noticed that the interior was the same color as the outside and covered in squeaky plastic. The three guys inside were dancing as hard as you can dance while seated and I broke into a huge smile as I took my seat. I was trying to keep from dancing myself and instead tapping a finger on the back of the seat in front of me. One of the guys noticed and I could see him whispering to his friend next to him, which only made me smile harder. It was like being in a big orange box with club music blaring at 8 in the morning on a Monday. It was awesome.

Mondays mean babies home for me, so that’s where I headed for a few hours of preschool teaching and watching babies dribble sadza from their mouths. That used to mean a somewhat frustrating and frazzled start to my week, but lately I’ve been bestowed with much more patience and I enjoy the kids more than ever before. So we had a wonderful morning of singing, praying, story time (a brand new copy of Green Eggs and Ham donated by some lovely Australians), coloring, puzzling, playing, tickling fat little babies until they giggled so hard they could hardly breathe. And tea, of course. With a big hunk of white bread slathered in peanut butter and jam to top it off.

On my way back to the office I stopped at a beautiful little gift shop/cafe that has become one of my favorite hideaways where I can have a whole French press of real coffee for less than $2. It was the lunch hour and I was working on a story for the monthly Our Neighbours Ministry newsletter. While I was honestly and earnestly working, it might not have appeared so what with the atmosphere, the chocolate muffin, the staring off into space when I had a bit of writer’s block… I didn’t think I would run into anyone I knew since it was a bit out of the way and a Monday afternoon. So I’m steadily writing and sipping away for about 20 minutes when I look up across the room. Seated against the opposite wall are the two people I least expected to see: Esther, my MCC rep and Lauraine, my host mom. And they were having a meeting, about me. I just stared at them for a few seconds, wondering what to do. Of course I went over to say hi and to say that yes, I really was working, I could concentrate better here, etc etc etc. Esther looked skeptical, I’m sure I looked sheepish, and Lauraine was just smiling at the exchange. In the end it truly wasn’t a big deal, we were joking around the whole time. I did learn that I’ll have to find a new hideaway though…

When I got back to the office the group of Australian volunteers were there. We ended up chatting and exchanging stories for a while, talking about how rare glass Coke bottles are in the States and Australia while here every shop carries them, expecting you to bring back the empty bottle or else you’ll get a scolding! I did my daily checking of Facebook and email with the remaining time.

I left to get home in time to take my young host sister, Zoe, to the local carnival. She’d been talking about this Luna Park for ages and I promised her we’d go together. I get home and realize I’m quite tired. I nearly collapse in a chair, close my eyes for 2 minutes, and the power goes out. This is a fairly common occurrence in Bulawayo, load shedding it’s called, and you never quite know when it will come back. Also fairly common is taking a nap when that happens, since we can’t cook (no gas stove or generator) and everything has to be done by candle light. But I had promised her, so I hauled myself up and we walked in the direction of the lights and sounds and smells of the carnival. Turns out $2 wasn’t enough for both of us to ride any ride for people bigger than 3 feet tall, so we headed to the food booth. There we ordered one cotton candy and one toffee apple and watched as the guy behind the counter literally just spin sugar until he had a huge pinkish-white glob of it on a stick and handed it over to Zoe. We turned around and there I paused for a moment. A lovely, rust-smeared horizon was fading into a clear blue twilight behind the lights of the Ferris wheel and I was licking sweet and sticky sugar from my fingers. I felt surrounded by happiness, by fullness, by peace, by belonging.

When we got home we sat at the kitchen table and read, colored and did homework by candlelight, waiting for power to come back so we could eat dinner. The kids have to get up at 5 to get to school on time and so usually try to get to bed by 8, which was fast approaching. Luckily Lauraine had cooked the chicken and rice in the morning so the kids had a few pieces of bread and cold chicken and went to bed. I continued to sit at the table and stew. I was getting more and more frustrated by having no good way to ease my hunger. I was tired and annoyed and settling into a dark mood. Suddenly I remembered that I had told myself I need to go out and look at the stars some dark night when the power was gone. They’re incredible with the lights of the city, how would they look with no light pollution at all? So I pushed back my chair, walked over and opened the door. Before both feet were over the threshold my jaw had dropped open – there were billions of stars. The Milky Way was so visible it was hazy. Everywhere I looked there were dozens upon dozens of small pinpricks of light. I couldn’t get enough. I stood out there in the cold until my neck hurt and I forgot my hunger.

The power eventually came back about 30 minutes later but by that time I was no longer hungry. I only wanted to go to sleep clothed in that feeling of awe and gratefulness. It seemed to me that God had nudged me from my bad mood by nudging me from my chair, and by breathing in the starlight I had breathed in more capacity to hear that still, small voice. I heard no clear thought or words, but my spirit was calmed and reminded of the goodness of life, with all its bad and good, its hunger and its bread, its uncertainty and its sure joy. 

 

Ndebele of the Nday : Ngiyajabula ukuba lapha – I’m happy to be here!

I learned this as part of my rehearsed introduction to all the people I would meet. It was true then and it’s true now.

Quote of the Day:

“This is Africa – you don’t stop eating because you just ate, you stop eating because you ran out of food.”

                                                                                -a slightly crass but extremely funny comment made by Tsitsi and John, the receptionist of  Our Neigbours Ministry and her new husband.

Eeish!

That’s the local expression for “holy cow!” or “my goodness!”, pronounced however you choose to pronounce it 🙂 I’m saying it because I realize what a very bad blogger I’ve been. I have no excuse. Sometimes I’m busy, sometimes I have no internet access. But sometimes, the opposite is true. It’s not like I don’t think about it; there are lots of times when I think to myself “I should put this in my blog” or even come up with the first few, poetic lines to a post. Then later when I’m sitting in front of my computer, I blank.

But hey, just by writing about not writing I’ve written a paragraph!

Seriously, there are several things that have been on my mind lately that I can’t shake, and that’s saying something because I feel like that part of me has been nothing but cluttered for a good long while, and nothing sticks around long enough to be properly processed, categorized or filed. 

But the one thing that’s been bugging me comes from a conversation I had with Lauraine, my host mom, on the way back from Tuesday night prayer meeting a couple weeks ago (my new, very Pentecostal church is a topic I could blog for days about….). While my mom was visiting we talked a little about money and how much she earns. It wasn’t as awkward as it sounds, it was simply a discussion about one of the many things that create the cultural gap between Americans and Zimbabweans. So on the way back from church I asked Lauraine how much she earns a month, parroting the question she had asked American mom Linda. She answered “$227“.

I should add that Lauraine is a single mother; her husband left her about 5 years ago for some hussy in Harare (not trying to be mean but I am a bit biased, and it is alliterative). Left without a goodbye or a “Don’t worry, I’ll pay child support”. So Lauraine fully supports 3 children, one who just started university and two preteens at home. Zimbabwean government(public) schools are not free – school fees per student are a little less than 600 per year. Then there’s uniforms, both winter and summer, books and all that other school stuff, rent for the house(which her mother owns so thankfully it’s not too expensive), food and any other little cost that pops up. The thing is, Lauraine works sooo much, at least 50 hours a week at the church, coming home after 8 most nights. She gets no overtime and gets up at 4:30 every morning to get the kids ready for school, make their lunches and cook the evening meal so they can just heat it up when they get home. All for $227 a month. The real kicker, though, is that that is the exact amount I get from MCC every month towards repaying my student loans.

My African mother is an incredibly strong woman, and my hero because with all that struggle and worry in her life, she still worships her God in the truly African way – with arms outstretched, hips moving, dancing in joy. And boy does she pray!

Ndebele of the Nday: (this might be a repeat)

Ngiyakuthanda – I love you!

Quote of the Day:

There is mystery behind that masked grey visage, and ancient life force, delicate and mighty, awesome and enchanted, commanding the silence ordinarily reserved for mountain peaks, great fires and the sea.”

                           -Peter Matthiessen, The Tree Where Man Was Born

                           -from the book I’m currently reading and how I feel about elephants at this point in my life 🙂

 

I just spent the past 4 days holed up in my room, not seeing the light of day and not talking to anyone. This was due not to antisocial tendencies but to a nasty viral infection that has been making me sick for the past week. Finally today I came back to work and am feeling a lot better, but am wondering what it was that got inside me and made me feel like death. Or maybe I don’t really want to know….

I learned through this and another illness earlier in the year that being physically sick really makes me homesick as well. It’s hard to feel under the weather when you’re far far away from home and loved ones. I’m struggling with feeling pulled towards home and wishing away the next 3 months. Thankfully, however, my mom is coming to visit next week!! I’m definitely excited about seeing her and showing her around my new home, not to mention taking a little vacation to Victoria Falls and riding some elephants. 

I’m really enjoying my new home and new family and getting to see a lot more of the city than I did before. I often times don’t get home until after 8 which while tiring has also been really fun. I see the Milky Way more clearly every night here than I do for months at a time back home, and I can’t complain about making new friends and eating cheap ice cream!

I’ve been doing a lot of the soul-searching part of this journey lately (and less of the sadza which I can’t say I’m unhappy about) and I have to admit it’s not all good stuff that’s surfacing. I’m learning things about myself that I’m not necessarily proud or happy about, and am struggling to reconcile this new knowledge with who I thought I was and who I want to be. My hope is that by unearthing the ugly I can perhaps get rid of it or turn it into something of beauty. Time will tell. 

Ndebele of the Nday: Sungibhowa! – You’re annoying me! said to the guys who try to talk to me even though I have sunglasses on and earphones in and obviously don’t want to chat with anyone, least of all someone hitting on me.

Quote of the day:

To live in Africa, you must die in Africa

                                                                       — Ernest Hemingway

Yesterday was the first day of the rest of my life (in Zimbabwe). I moved in with my new, and last, African host family. Last week marked the 6th month anniversary of my stay here and it’s customary for SALTers in this country to switch families half way through the year. This gives us a chance to have two different experiences with two different families. In my case, they will be very different experiences as I have moved into the western suburbs, the high density area of Bulawayo, basically the “ghetto”. It’s what some people would call the “real” Africa – townships where houses are very small, crowded, close together, several people sharing one bedroom, lots of people out and about at all hours and very unlike my previous host home. I didn’t realize how much that area is like the States until I moved into my new house. I had a large room with a double bed, chair and huge window through which I could admire the trees, the sky, the local chicken family (ok so it’s not totally like the States). Now everything is much more cramped and while I still have a double bed, it takes up most of the space in the room. And then there’s the fact that no other white people live in the western suburbs. So I get talked to, a lot. Whether I’m in a chatty mood or not. I get “Makiwa! Hey kiwa!” -which just means white person – alllll the time. And it’s only been one day. But despite my complaining I am honestly glad to have the chance to experience another way of Zimbabwean life. It’s the first time a SALTer has been placed in this area and while I volunteered to be the guinea pig and am excited for the opportunity, it will definitely be a challenge. 

But from what I saw and heard last night there aren’t any roosters in the area. This is a huge relief since I had started thinking about hoarding large rocks as ammunition when they cock-adoodle-dooed at 6 am, every morning. And 8 at night. And sometimes in the middle of the night. I am a pacifist, but barely so when it comes to roosters. 

Ndebele of the Nday: Usuthile hini? – Are you full? – what my host mom asked me last night, twice, after a big plate of rice and chicken. I’m a “big girl” here, well everywhere I suppose 🙂 and she was really trying to look out for me. Thank goodness for the time and space to do some running!

Quote of the Day:

 A man can no more diminish God’s glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word “darkness” on the walls of his cell.

                                                                           -C.S. Lewis

 

 

 

 

Strawberry Tarts and Cucumber Sandwiches

Happy 2013! I brought in the new year at a beautiful farm with about 30 people I didn’t know and it was wonderful. I was invited by a friend to a place just outside of town where we went swimming in a dam, had a braii, danced a Scottish country dance, drove around in the rain and mud on a scavenger hunt and enjoyed a huge bonfire late into the night. I brought out my inner teenager and pulled an all-nighter along with a handful of other kids. In the grey light of very early morning we found ourselves walking along a grassy path on a farm, talking about the foods in Zim that I can’t find in the States. Specifically custard. Which an English girl who was born in Zim but now lives in New Zealand told me goes well with strawberry tarts and cucumber sandwiches. I don’t know why but that moment sticks in my mind – listening to girl with a posh English accent talk about tarts, on a farm in Zimbabwe at 3:30 in the morning.

I’ve been back almost 2 weeks now from vacation in South Africa. It was a really nice time of relaxing with friends in Cape Town, lying on the beach, eating out and taking a breather from work. It felt like a breather from Africa even, since SA is so similar to the States. After a week beside the Atlantic we headed to a resort near Durban, along the Indian Ocean for our MCC regional retreat. All the MCCers in Southern Africa (Mozambique, Zambia, Zim and South Africa-including Swaziland and Lesotho) gathered for a week to worship, attend workshops, do some shopping and relax on the beach. It was a great time of being with other SALTers and talking about our experiences and comparing situations, languages, food, etc. It was neat for me to hear how different everyone’s assignments are. Some have great host families while some don’t even live with one, some have strict work schedules while others have to work to have a schedule, some eat sadza, some never get meat, some eat curry, some never get vegetables and on and on. I was encouraged to remember that everyone’s experience is totally unique and can not be compared to others’, so we must all live fully in our own and squeeze as much as we can out of it. I left retreat energized and ready to get back to work!

Then came Christmas. It was my first Christmas away from home, while all my brothers were there. I was looking at a season of 90+ weather, no tree or presents or ham(!) and no special family gathering. It was just my host family and I at our house. We started out with a short church service then came home for brunch. Then the chicken slaughtering. That I must admit was a very different, very fun part of my African Christmas. I *chickened out* of the actual killing but really got into the plucking of feathers and cutting off of head and feet. The rest of the day I spent reading until we went out for pizza that evening (a very big deal for our family). I was trying to live in the moment and enjoy my first African Christmas, but I found it especially difficult to be away from family and couldn’t help but feel homesick. As everyone gets back to work this week, however, I’m hoping and expecting that it will pass. I know being busy will definitely help, as I look forward to a new year and a renewed sense of purpose in my placement. Sometimes I struggle with knowing exactly why God brought me here and what that purpose is, however. I’m working to understand how to deepen our relationship when I don’t always feel like myself, when I sometimes feel lost or unqualified for this work. I was so ready and excited to come to Africa for a year, then got here and realized “ok, now I actually have to live here, to create a life here”. It’s a continuous, sometimes difficult process. My greatest fear is that I will wish away my time here, that I will deny myself the opportunity to be transformed by dwelling on what was or what may be in the future and that I won’t allow myself to be used by God in the way I’m intended. Like I always tell my friends when they’re engrossed in texting and oblivious to what’s going on around them, “BE HERE NOW”. I’m claiming it now as a mantra for myself. I don’t want to call it a resolution because then it’s bound to fail right? 😉 It’s my prayer, that God will help me to fully be in Zim the rest of my time here.

 

Ndebele of the Nday:

Buya lapha khathesi – “come here now” 

Quote of the day:

The only true joy is to escape from the prison of selfhood….and enter by love into union with the Life who dwells and sings within the essence of every creature.

Thomas Merton 

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Killing the Christmas chicken.
Looks can be deceiving though – I couldn’t bring myself to actually kill the poor animal. My host dad did the slaughtering and I did the dressing and playing with innards 🙂

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sunset on the beach in Cape Town, our last night there for vacation

crunchy clothes

There are days here when nothing really notable happens. A whole week or two in fact goes by with just the goings-on of daily life. These are nice in that I can go about my business without interruptions, without drama, without tears. My favorite days, however, are the ones that seem normal, that start with a bowl of vanilla-flavored porridge and a cup of tea, one teaspoon of sugar only please, then something happens that reminds I’m in Africa. That I’m thousands of miles away from the familiar and that’s what makes this whole thing an adventure.

The other evening I came home from a run and decided to start cooking supper early because I was famished. The family was out grocery shopping so I was on my own. Usually we defrost meat in the microwave since it stays frozen right up until we start cooking, but I noticed a large chunk of meat in a bag on top of the fridge and thought “well hey I’ll cook some of that since it’s already thawed”. I put it on the cutting board and start going to town on it with a sharp knife, and then begin to wonder exactly what kind of meat it is. At first I figured it was just a kind of cut that I wasn’t used to (butcheries here are full of things I have never eaten and never imagined anyone ate, ever). I continue to cut through what seems like a heck of a lot of fat and hardly any actual meat, so I remind myself that people really like their fat here, so it’s not unusual. Then as I start cooking it in some oil in a pan, it kind of curls up like sausages, but not very appetizing sausages. I wonder to myself if maybe this isn’t brain. I don’t know what else to think and I’m beyond curious now so I call my host mom, Chenai, pretending that I just want to know when they’re coming home. I tell her I started cooking and she wants to know what. It’s my opening so I tell her, then nonchalantly ask what exactly it is that I’m cooking. Turns out it’s cow intestines. She tells me this through her laughter, which continues when she and Milton, my host dad, walk through the door 15 minutes later. Apparently intestines need to be cooked for hours and hours so, unfortunately, we’re stuck eating plain old mince meat (like hamburger. Safe, delicious hamburger). It could have been worse, much worse I figure. It could have actually been brain. 

Then a few days ago I was walking to a coffee shop downtown, waiting for “my hair guy” to hurry up and show up (one does not know the meaning of patience until they come to Africa. I waited 4 hours for someone who never showed up). But I did end up making friends with a stranger (a nice stranger Mom, don’t worry). This guy with dark glasses and dreadlocks walked up behind me and said something like “Hey there rasta sister”. I’m getting used to being talked to by strangers only because I now have dreadlocks. Well, probably also because I’m white with dreadlocks. I had no idea that there is a whole community out there of “rastas” who share an unspoken comaraderie, I think just because we have, as my boss likes to call them, worms for hair. I was wary at first of course, but then as we talked I could tell he was a nice guy and just sharing in that comaraderie. He’s a musician named Trust, teaches traditional dancing in his own studio and even tours with a group. I told him I’ve been wanting to learn to dance like an African, or at least try, and he said I could certainly join a class. Then he gave me something I’ve been wanting since I got here, since I was told I should have one – an African name. With no hesitation, like it’s always been my name, he called Sithabile, which means “we are happy” or “we rejoice”. I think it’s quite pretty, and nothing close to “cow intestines” or something like that.

And the crunchy clothes – I first heard this expression when an American friend of mine offered me a crunchy towel after a shower at her place. It makes perfect sense – clothes that come in off the line to dry have a distinct texture to them, more or less crunchiness depending on the kind of material. Stretchy polyester-type tank tops – pretty close to normal. Large cotton towels – extremely crunchy. I can’t determine if it’s the detergent, the sun, the breeze, the water….? So on Sunday morning I ended up skipping church (my ride got tied up with work stuff, in case my pastor host dad is reading this 🙂 which created the perfect opportunity to finally get all my laundry done. I don’t recommend saving all your laundry until you’ve run out of clean you-know-what if you have to rinse, wring out and hang everything up by hand. I have the blood blisters to prove how hard it is and how long it takes. I did eventually get it all up on the line, but it turned into a dreary, rainy day which is a nice break from the heat but not so nice for drying clothes. I was gone all evening and when I got back at 10 pm suddenly remembered I had to bring it all in. Some of the stuff was crunchy, some was still damp. That is quite frustrating when they’ve been out the whole day and it’s dark and cold and so you have to turn nearly every surface of your room into a drying rack. But as I unpinned the clothespins I looked up and I think audibly gasped at the stars. I had never seen them so bright and clear and beautiful. Usually I’m inside by dark, not to mention the city lights that drown out the night sky. This night though, I was treated to an exceptionally clear view of my favorite constellation Orion (and his belt). I didn’t think he even existed in the southern hemisphere! I was forced through awe to just stand and breathe and appreciate.

 

I leave for vacation in South Africa in two days. That means I’m giddy with excitement and that I won’t have much access to internet for the next two weeks. That doesn’t mean much though since with my track record I wouldn’t update my blog so soon anyway 🙂 But hopefully when I get back I’ll have a whole heap of material, including close encounters with some great white sharks after shark cage diving! Then again the rest of the time I’ll just be lying on the beach…..I think it will all balance out.

Ndebele of the Nday:

yenza! – literally “Do!” – when you want someone to come on and get something done! Remember I work with children. I know all the words for sit, be quiet, hurry, etc. 

Quote of the day:

“Be good, keep your feet dry, your eyes open, your heart at peace and your soul in the joy of Christ.

-Thomas Merton

 

 

 

 

Tuesday November 13th

I sat down to write a post this afternoon but instead got terribly sidetracked by reading one poem after another online. So I’ll share what I found by some of my favorite authors/poets. Enjoy!

The Lily
By Mary Oliver

Night after night
   darkness
      enters the face
         of the lily

which, lightly,
   closes its five walls
      around itself,
         and its purse

of honey,
   and its fragrance,
      and is content
         to stand there

in the garden,
   not quite sleeping,
      and, maybe,
         saying in lily language

some small words
   we can’t hear
      even when there is no wind
         anywhere,

its lips
   are so secret,
      its tongue
         is so hidden—

or, maybe,
   it says nothing at all
      but just stands there
         with the patience

of vegetables
   and saints
      until the whole earth has turned around
         and the silver moon

becomes the golden sun—
   as the lily absolutely knew it would,
      which is itself, isn’t it,
         the perfect prayer?

 Evening

G.K. Chesterton

Here dies another day

During which I have had eyes, ears, hands

And the great world round me;

And with tomorrow begins another.

Why am I allowed two?

The poetry of earth is never dead;

the poetry of earth is ceasing never.

-John Keats

and my favorite quote of the day —

“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese”

-G.K.Chesterton