Tagging along with Tommy to the community garden today, I admired the strength of life in the midst of winter.
I particularly enjoyed:
1. playing with ice blocks frozen around the hoop house, enchanted with how they distort and soften, how they reflect light.
2. the contrast between life still pushing through and the surrounding decomposition.
3. feeling gratitude for the harvest made possible by Tommy, and the meals we will cook with it this week.
What I noticed there made me think of this poem:
The Fog Town School of Thought
They should have taught us birds and trees
in school, they should have taught us beauty
and weaving bees and had a class
on listening and standing alone—
the children should have studied light
reflected from a spider web,
we should have learned the branches of streams
spread out like fingers or the veins
of a leaf—we should have learned the sky
is the tallest steeple, we should have known
a hill is a voice inside the sky—
O, we should have had our school
on top and stayed until the night
for the fog to bloom in the hollows and rise
like cotton spinning off a wheel—
we should have learned a dream—a child’s
and even still a man’s—is made
from fog and love, my word, you’d think
with the book in front of us we should
have learned how Fog Town got its name.
— Maurice Manning