We churn. Yesterday, fueled by a morning conversation about commitment (or lack thereof), challenged by an evening swimming with foolish old thoughts of might-have-beens, I churned. Possible pasts rose up and whacked me in that misty, far-too guilty place, the old smirking internal attorney offering lots of proof of dumb faithlessness and that sorry bug-a-boo …
A Poem by Milosz
Reading poetry by Czeslaw Milosz this morning, and the concreteness of his writing calls me out of my head into the freshness of the humid morning. I found this poem at the Nobel Prize site. ------ Encounter We were riding through frozen fields in a wagon at dawn. A red wing rose in the darkness. …
JEFF BERRYMAN 