After today’s there are only four more small stones to be written for January. I think then I’ll go back and see what poem or poems I have to work with, expand on, combine. After all, these were only first draft thoughts, rather than finished poems.
So. Last night, I went outside for a moment, surprised to see it snowing, but gentle enough I didn’t expect what I woke to this morning! Everything: trees, my Buddha, the bird feeder, bushes, all with tall caps of powdery white. So light that the wind blows it
Silent days (Photo credit: AnneJP1)
easily onto the ground, and, less beautifully, onto the driveway. It is, of course, drifting first one direction, then the other. Earlier, I was happy to see my side of the road had not been ploughed in. Now it seems the plough has made a repeat pass, and both sides share the residue from the centre of the road. For now, I am fine with it, as I have no need to go out for a couple of days, and fortunately, my neighbour kindly takes care of it. I am so thankful for great neighbours.
Why am I going on about all this? Today’s Rilke passage is called “The Solitude We Are” from the Year With Rilke blogspot that pairs his writings with sculptures by Rodin. Even though I’m grateful for neighbours, I still very much enjoy my own company. Rilke’s advice to a Young Poet has been written about in many ways but it still had something for me to reflect on:
Jan. 27, 2014
“We are solitary. We can delude ourselves and act as if this were not so.” —Letters to a Young Poet, Aug. 12, 1904 – Rilke from The Solitude We Are, A Year With Rilke
To be solitary in a silent day:
not an isolation but a gathering
thought, reflection, strength
Luna moth emerging from silk cocoon. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A store against those other days
when the external makes demands
time not granting the luxury of cocoon.
We arrive alone in protest, pushed
out of our comfortable nests. In each vessel
of departure, there is only room for one.