|Are you a fly?|
I used to be bothered by the idea of God's profligate generosity. That the grasshopper can be just as happy and blessed as the ants. Of course, the creator being infinitely giving. I like to believe in a certain amount of justice in the universe. Saint Francis of Assisi used to call people who didn't do their share of the work and lived off the labors of others "Brother Fly." Dillard is right. Brother Fly will always be blessed with a huge share of sunlight and air.
I work hard, every day. I don't say this because I'm looking for sympathy or praise. It's just a fact. I think it has something to do with the way that I was brought up. My father left for work at 7 a.m. Sometimes, he didn't get back home until well after dark. He was a plumber and furnace man. In the winter, the phone would ring at 3 a.m., and off my dad would go to get somebody's heat working or somebody's sewer unplugged.
I am not a Brother Fly. Today, I wrote my Christmas poem. Started early in the morning. Wrote about four drafts in between my other chores. I think it's done. Keep in mind, though, that I read two books and did research for two months before I sat down to write. I was ready.
Tonight, I've got other work to do. Two blog posts. Christmas shopping. An art project. If I get all of that done early, I may start reading a new book. Agatha Christie for my book club next week.
Saint Francis often referred to himself as Brother Ass--carrying the burdens, doing the hard labor. It was a badge of honor for him. I think that I'm more of an ass than a fly.
Please vote for Saint Marty (Martin Achatz):
Voting for next Poet Laureate of the U. P.