April 1, 2012

From a flat gray morning, blurred and out of focus, the sky has seeped in blue background for a hustling multitude of white clouds.  Why is it that when I sit down in the morning the first thing I look at is the sky?  The ground is closer, but my eye is drawn up to the sky to determine the time and the kind of day it might become, yet, even after looking, I am often surprised by how fast it changes, how fast everything changes.
This morning, trying to sleep late one day this week, I was wakened by a flock of blue jays, yes, a flock of them, six or seven screaming and scolding and generally carrying on somewhere close by, in the pine trees or the oak right outside the window.  They continued to raise havoc for quite some time until finally I decided since I was awake I would just get up!  Then . . . yes, then they were quiet, and went off to wake up someone else.
The sun, intermittant and all yellow with gold this morning, is lighting up spots on the yard, the satiny wood of the crepe myrtle, the bright green grass, the white shells of the driveway, the even brighter white new cane hurrying into height before they get mowed again.  The wandering cat is asleep in a sun spot on the canoe, and the tiniest breeze is just barely breathing through the new leaves.  And it's Sunday, time for the blessing . . .

The Word

Down near the bottom
of the crossed-out list
of things you have to do today,

between "green thread"
and "broccoli" you find
that you have penciled "sunlight."

Resting on the page, the word
is beautifu.  It touches you
as if you had a friend

and sunlight were a present
he had sent you from some place distant
as this morning -- to cheer you up,

and to remind you that,
among your duties, pleasure
is a thing,

that also needs accomplishing
Do you remember?
that time and light are kinds

of love, and love
is no less practical
than a coffee grinder

or a safe spare tire?
Tomorrow you may be utterly
without a clue

but today you get a telegram,
from the heart in exile
proclaiming that the kingdom

still exists,
the king and queen alive,
still speaking to their children,

- to any one among them
who can find the time,
to sit out in the sun and listen.

Tony Hoagland

I am lucky to get a telegram most mornings, where the night leaving will drop that lovely cobalt color into the sky, where the sun sometimes comes up red and round, "a spitball of lava", that burns up the whole sky with its fire, that sunlight will flash in and out of the yard like an invention of brilliance, or the wind will come through loud and obnoxious on its blustery way to another country.  "Time and light are kinds of love" yes, they are, the sunlight I so crave and bask in is always a blessing to me, even when everyone else is broiling, I love the sun and the heat of it soaking into my bones, the glow of it reflecting from every bit of shine there is.  A grocery list, how mundane, yet even it can be transformed by a single word, that brings to mind love is as essential as practical and as ordinary as a spare tire or a coffee grinder.  What a thing to find among green thread and broccoli . . . sunlight and love, enough of a blessing for any day!