Sunday morning at the beginning of spring break.
K brought me this sprig of pussy willow from a trip to Bellingham; there was a wild bush growing near the ocean bluffs and she tucked a stem of it in a buttonhole. Two days later, I put it in a vase and when I went to change the water, I saw that it wanted to take root with us. Two weeks later, and it’s about ready to transplant to a pot!
My seniors are in the middle of an existentialism unit and are halfway through Camus’ The Plague. They recently finished reading Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things for our post-colonial unit and I see both works influencing their thoughts in their belief statements about language, communication, and literature:
A few weeks ago, K and I attended a poetry retreat with David Whyte.
K’s notebook page during the first hour of the three days.
The stage at Islandwood is set up for “the lads”, musicians Owen and Moley Ó Súilleabháin. The entire experience was extraordinarily moving, thought-provoking, and intense. The genius of David Whyte is the way his poetry calls forth the listener to meet it halfway; one’s own wisdom surfaces in response to his stories and poetry.
Island Ashley 