Sometimes you read a poem and there is no one with you in the room to show, no one you can pass the book and invite  to read the words. No one who can experience the quickening of their own pulse; the pleasure in the sentence; the satisfaction of the final full stop. When this happens the next best thing to do is to share it with you.

Dwelling

As though touching her
might make him known to himself,

as though his hand moving
over her body might find who
he is, as though he lay inside her, a country

his hand’s traveling uncovered,
as though such a country arose
continually up out of her
to meet his hand’s setting forth and setting forth.

And the places on her body have no names.
She is what’s immense about the night.
And their clothes on the floor are arranged
for forgetfulness.

~ Li-Young Lee, Book of My Nights

I am: listening to my body and taking time out to relax. remembering to breathe

I have been: overwhelmed this week with what has been thrown at me. feeling inadequate when wanting to help the people I love. researching the results of my ultrasound – fibroids, and possible endometriosis (but they can’t be sure and may need to investigate more… lovely).

I am going to: look after myself so i am better able to help the people i love. do some online xmas shopping and browse Citizen of the Month’s Online Craft Fair. look forward to my two shoots next week. send out print orders, including this free print to Brittany

I’m reading: The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle – interesting stuff…

Life is: hard sometimes, but the sun always returns in the end

* noun: a confused jumble or medley of things (origin mid 16th century from archaic French)