“Do not read, as children do, to amuse yourself, or like the ambitious, for the purpose of instruction. No, read in order to live.” ~ Gustave Flaubert


I might read

                   

“Finally, from so little sleeping and so much reading, his brain dried up and he went completely out of his mind.” ~ Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote

Saturday, early afternoon. Chilly and drizzly.

So what do you think of the new header? Many thanks to my friend Veronica McLaughlin, aka Titirangi Storyteller for a) being a wonderful photographer, and b) being willing to share the beauty she captures with me.

Not sure if I like the header with this particular WordPress theme, but also not sure if I want to go through the agony of trying to find a new theme. Opinions and ideas will be greatly appreciated.

Not much else for today. Need to do bills and go grocery shopping . . .

Music by Gabrielle Aplin and Bastille, “Dreams”(Fleetwood Mac cover)

                   

Prayer in My Boot

For the wind no one expected

For the boy who does not know the answer

For the graceful handle I found in a field
attached to nothing
pray it is universally applicable

For our tracks which disappear
the moment we leave them

For the face peering through the cafe window
as we sip our soup

For cheerful American classrooms sparkling
with crisp colored alphabets
happy cat posters
the cage of the guinea pig
the dog with division flying out of his tail
and the classrooms of our cousins
on the other side of the earth
how solemn they are
how gray or green or plain
how there is nothing dangling
nothing striped or polka-dotted or cheery
no self-portraits or visions of cupids
and in these rooms the students raise their hands
and learn the stories of the world

For library books in alphabetical order
and family businesses that failed
and the house with the boarded windows
and the gap in the middle of a sentence
and the envelope we keep mailing ourselves

For every hopeful morning given and given
and every future rough edge
and every afternoon
turning over in its sleep

~ Naomi Shihab Nye