|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| Is it from blood and tears
That inspiration comes?
From sweating in the fields
By heat of many suns?
Can brush, or pen, or hand
Produce these works of art?
Is wind from distant lands
The place from where it starts?
In silence can we hear
The spreading of its wings?
Or meet that blessed genius
Of whom the ancients sing?
| | |
| Upon looking at the rain, he was pained to realized his plans for the bar-b-que were spoiled. His kids didn't seem to mind at all since they were looking for the biggest puddles to jump in. The sunrise, fresh air, and singing birds of the morning that seemed to promise a wonderful day out-doors all seemed like sparks that have been put out by this downpour. Drops of tears flowed from heaven and out of his heart. "Why do the kids play?" he asks. "They have no plans.. Cursed be my planning table." And yet, he realized that a childs planning table is made of puddles and mud. They are able to turn rocks into plans. Furthermore, he felt within him, a primal satisfaction with this rain, as if it could nourish the crops that he never had. And so he goes to the planning committe, who can turn spoiled plans into works of art. | | |
| Lucy's been having a hard time paying the bills, and who could blame her? She's been dumped by her husband of three years and has been having to pay court and lawyer fees for the divorce. Too, the house seems to find new ways of breaking that need to be replaced every few weeks. "What do you tell your 5 year old daughter when she asks where dad is? I tell her I don't know when he will be back." Her older son makes bold money making suggestion, some illegal. "He probably gets that entrepreneurial spirit from his father. He always did know how to make things work even though the odds were against him." She remembers when before they were married, he unfroze the pipes with only a disassembled toaster. "It's too bad that tramp client of his is better in bed than I am. He's too good for her." She has no choice but to wait until he comes to his senses that he has started two new lives with crooked views of morality and family. When she thinks of the cards she was dealt and is tempted to give up and run away for a few days, she is reminded that there is plenty of blame to go around. That she should stop looking at her kids, her husband, and her paycheck as mirrors in which she sees her own distorted reflection, but to find glimpses of hope to give to her kids, to teach them the same lesson she's learned. | | |
| It's a summer day, and he doesn't want to mow the lawn. His neighbor has chosen to disrupt the silent afternoon by mowing his. He thinks, "It's not enough that he has two dogs in the back that bark at anything that moves." But that yard does need to be trimmed. Sooner or later, the HOA lady will stroll by, inspecting those yards with a keen eye that can spot grass that's a quarter-inch too long. Perhaps if he asks nicely, his neighbor could mow over an extra few feet, making the job a little easier. "Why does it always grow so fast?", he thinks. He envisions a grass-less lawn that is just flowers and trees.. not one weed.. not one blade to be maintained.. just a light sprinkling of water here and there. "My lawn would look a lot prettier." He mutters, not realizing he was thinking aloud. He looks out at the neighbor, and scoffs at his sweat stained back. He starts to feel beads of sweat on his own brow since it was a hot day. He remembers his mom's words, "If you don't work, you don't eat." and realized this chore was more precious than he had thought, an anectdote for the rhythm of life. Of course he wishes that it would not be so hot, but he also knows that it's how you respond to the problems, not how big the problems are. With a fixed stare straight ahead, he got up, went to the tool shed, and went off to join his neighbor.
| | |
|
