This Is What One Thirsts For, I

It Isn't For The Moment You Are Struck That You Need Courage, But For That Long Uphill Climb Back To Sanity And Faith And Security.

When I Cannot Write A Poem, I Bake Biscuits And Feel Just As Pleased.

I Find There Is A Quality To Being Alone That Is Incredibly Precious. Life Rushes Back Into The Void, Richer, More Vivid, Fuller Than Before.

The World Has Different Owners At Sunrise... Even Your Own Garden Does Not Belong To You. Rabbits And Blackbirds Have The Lawns; A Tortoise-shell Cat Who Never Appears In Daytime Patrols The Brick Walls, And A Golden-tailed Pheasant Glints His Way Through The Iris Spears.

... Not Only Is Life Put In New Patterns From The Air, But It Is Somehow Arrested, Frozen Into Form. (the Leaping Hare Is Caught In A Marble Panel.) A Glaze Is Put Over Life. There Is No Flaw, No Crack In The Surface; A Still Reservoir, No Ripple On Its Face. Looking Down From The Air That Morning, I Felt That Stillness Rested Like A Light Over The Earth. The Waterfalls Seemed Frozen Solid; The Tops Of The Trees Were Still; The River Hardly Stirred, A Serpent Gently Moving Under Its Shimmering Skin.