Tag Archives: life

sunday in october.

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sunday in october

the farmer, in the pride of  sea-worn acres,

showed me his honey mill, the honey-gate.

late afternoon was busy on the land,

the sun was a warm gauzy providence.

the honey mill, the honey-gate. and then,

near by, the bees. they came in from the fields,

the sun behind them, from the fields and trees,

like soft banners, waving from the sea.

he told me of their thousands, their ways,

of pounds of honey in the homely apiaries.

the stores were almost full, in autumn air,

against the coming chill, and the long cold.

he was about ready to rob them now,

the combs. he’d leave them just enough to keep them.

I thought it a rather subtle point point he made,

wishing providence would be as sure of us.

-richard eberhart

 

 

image credit: danny1970

swim out to it.

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when eating lunch with my daughter

she looked at.her sandwich

and noticed that one half had more of the ‘good stuff’ she liked inside

as she began to set it aside to save it for later

I asked why she didn’t eat the one she preferred right now

when it was fresh

it would make her happy

 it would not help or harm anyone

if she did or did not

and if she waited until later

it might be mushy and cold

or it may be accidentally dropped to the floor

and then she would not really have enjoyed either half

and who knows

 what could happen before she eats the second half

(granted, a bit dark and extreme on my part)

never knowing what is to come

good or bad

 why wait and not live life fully right now?

she agreed and ate the one she preferred 

(she’s probably hoping for a quiet lunch in her office tomorrow)

but I think it’s a good metaphor for life:

eat the sandwich, the one with the good stuff,

when it is served to you on a plate,

and sitting on the table before you

just waiting for you to pick it up and enjoy it

don’t save it for later.

“don’t wait for your ship to come in – swim out to it. ”      

-jerry smith

hole.

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“I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost… I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But, it isn’t my fault.
It still takes me a long time to get out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in. It’s a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault. I get out immediately.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

I walk down another street.”

 

 


Portia Nelson, There’s a Hole in My Sidewalk: The Romance of Self-Discovery