I do truly love this time of night, when the sweet-smelling girls with their silky hair are tucked in and quiet. Finally. Oh I love them and I love it when they are sleeping at the end of the day.
More rain today so no trees planted. More rain! Sigh. Bea was such a pepper-pot; she demands excitement at every turn and when none is offered she throws a grandiose fit, beating her high-chair tray or her head or whatever is available with her little powerful hand. She has started to say an enormous amount of words, which is both good and bad, as those of you with prattling offspring can testify to. She is head-over-heels in love with my friend Sally and her family and talks about them incessantly, even in knock-knock jokes. Sally is the kind of kindness that makes you want to scratch your head in wonder; she's got really good snacks; she picks up Bea and her heart still melts when Bea makes her sad face. I, on the other hand, who see many, many sad faces a day from this girlie accompanied by a keening wail at the injustice of her world--I am no longer moved. So Bea finds solace with Saeey-- Saeey, as she says, as often as possible.
I love this prayer poem of Rilke's.* It starts with these lines:
I am, you anxious one.
Don't you sense me, ready to break
into being at your touch?
My murmurings surround you like shadowy wings.
If you have not picked up Rilke's Book of Hours, do so immediately, in this world that is young and rainy again, in these days of swelling buds and daffodils and deepening grass.
thanks to my dear friend Kara for this pic of Merry from last year--or was it the year before?
Tomorrow I have a group at my house, so I've burned two dozen berry muffins in preparation. It's the least I can do, really!
And I'm off to bed. Love to those of you who are lonely tonight, and to all of you, I wish you a seamless slip from your reading or your worries into the peace of sleep.
_____
*From Rilke's Book of Hours, translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy (Riverhead Books, 1996).
