Spaces between . . . summer and fall (rising, falling), the light and dark, the trees and their deep (soaring) clarity- and mystery-laden interstices . . . Places in which the writer gladly dwells.
image: Helena Miozga/ChingYang Tung
poetry&prose
creative ramblings & reverie
Spaces between . . . summer and fall (rising, falling), the light and dark, the trees and their deep (soaring) clarity- and mystery-laden interstices . . . Places in which the writer gladly dwells.
image: Helena Miozga/ChingYang Tung
James Merrill wrote in his memoir, A Different Person (1993), about visiting a doctor about his depression, saying that he didn't know how to live or how to love, he just knew how to write a poem. The doctor, he said, "listened closely, then acted with undreamed-of kindness and dispatch. 'Come with me,' he said, in a flash ushering me out of his downtown office and onto the back seat of a smart little pale-green motorscooter. I put my arms, as instructed, about his stout, gray-suited person, and off we went in sunlight, through traffic, under trees, past architecture, over the muddy river to lunch." (The Writer’s Almanac, 3/3/3)Our hope is that this collection of writing will give readers the same je ne sais quois that brief but immense lunchtime voyage gave us—encouragement for going on; inspiration to do something simply good for ourselves each ordinary day; a smile; a moment of respite or recognition; time out from global numbing; a pause for weirdness, wonder, and delight. We want to share what gives us pleasure or some keener satisfaction putting down as well as picking up.
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