Today was a quiet day of quiet loves.
Not much going on. I played a church service this morning, I played one of my favorite hymns--"I Am the Bread of Life." It was rainy and misty most of the morning and afternoon. A good day to stay inside and watch TV or read a book. I did both. Netflix and Garrison Keillor, mixed with a little Wendell Berry. I even squeezed in a little nap. Then, when my wife got off work, we did some grocery shopping.
Like I said, nothing huge and important happened Just small, ordinary things. Easy to overlook.
Billy Collins falls in love over and over . . .
Aimless Love
by: Billy Collins
I fell in love with a wren
and later in the day with a mouse
the cat had dropped under the dining room table.
In the shadows of an autumn evening,
I fell for a seamstress
still at her machine in the tailor’s window,
and later for a bowl of broth,
steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.
This is the best kind of love, I thought,
without recompense, without gifts,
or unkind words, without suspicion,
or silence on the telephone.
The love of the chestnut,
the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.
No lust, no slam of the door –
the love of the miniature orange tree,
the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,
the highway that cuts across Florida.
No waiting, no huffiness, or rancor –
just a twinge every now and then
for the wren who had built her nest
on a low branch overhanging the water
and for the dead mouse,
still dressed in its light brown suit.
But my heart is always propped up
in a field on its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.
After I carried the mouse by the tail
to a pile of leaves in the woods,
I found myself standing at the bathroom sink
gazing down affectionately at the soap,
so patient and soluble,
so at home in its pale green soap dish.
I could feel myself falling again
as I felt its turning in my wet hands
and caught the scent of lavender and stone.
I know that I'm guilty of going through my days wearing blinders. Not really noticing the tiny blessings that come my way. It's easy to do nowadays, especially with the current political situation in the United States. Instead of saying grace for the cold pizza I had for lunch or the people who showed up for the poetry workshop I led tonight, I get myself wound up over what moronic thing Donald Trump uttered today.
So, for this post, I'm trying to hold dear all my loves (large and small) from this weekend: my daughter holding a baby lamb at the U. P. State Fair; an all-night rainstorm; playing pipe organ for church; friends writing poetry with me; a long walk with my puppy; my son helping carry in bags of groceries from the car; the poems of Wendell Berry; some really good sandwich cookies from Walmart; a soft pillow and warm blanket; the sound of my wife's sleeping breaths in the dark.
I could go on. And on. And on. Each day provides new opportunities to fall in love, if I keep my eyes open and take note.
Saint Marty is going to fall in love with the movie On Golden Pond now.
