Remember, yesterday, I opened and read:

“I like the intimacy

with a patch of ground

the closeness and the drawing in,

the sibilance,

the swish the grass makes

with the scissored snap of stems,”

From her poem Cutting the grass with Scissors

well, i wrote in the margins of her book, much like my living, existing in the periphery, a few words…

digging

two worn, bent at the wrist

we share -a small token of fervent hope

though nothing stays for long

my dandelion wishes stray

easterly, past our thoughts.

Staying on the island, even for the shortness of time enjoyed, was an awakening to how harried life can become. Oh! How I pine for the evergreen of Monhegan life.

Monhegan Island May 2016