if you asked me what gets me out of bed in the morning, i would tell you about my Alarm Clock, and the many sounds and volumes and buzzings my phone musters up before the Alarm Clock even starts its keening. i would tell you about the bus schedule and my teachers' attendance policies and the exact amount of time it takes to throw on some clothes, a backpack, run some toothpaste through my teeth on the way out the door.
one day I would like to have enough day ahead of me so I could get out of bed just to be for awhile in the bright dullness of the morning, just to live and eat cereal.
When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people. -Abraham Joshua Heschel
They are burning Kansas today. And I don’t mean some metaphorical Somewhere-Over-the-Rainbow- Click-your-heels-to-go-home-Kansas. I mean the fields in Kansas are being burned on purpose, and we in nearby states are breathing just a bit less easy because of it. There is no fog, only an itching in the back of the throat. Do you know what it feels like to know of another’s fire, with no way to reach it? To feel the itch in the back of your throat or on the tip of your tongue, to know that you are not their Kansas, can never be their Kansas (and here I mean the metaphysical one, the there’s-no-place-like one.) Maybe you are Canada or Antarctica or a missing point on a map, and all your rainbows are rotten, And none of your tornadoes contain oases. There is no deeper meaning in your color-coded streets, and maybe you chose the wrong building materials because you were never very good at architecture. It is best to remember that even the Arctic has moisture, that snow can put out the worst of flames, can sooth the most aching of throats, and there are those who have been waiting their whole lives for your light show— you quiet dancing rainbow.
When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people. -Abraham Joshua Heschel
In Which I Am Reminded That Paper Towels Are Made From Trees
I have killed several trees. I have washed my hands of them-- and on them. I am starting to wonder what will kill us first: The hand-washing or the hand-wringing.
When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people. -Abraham Joshua Heschel
As I pass the boy trying to read outside, despite the Nebraskan wind, under the tree with its white green leaflets, very becoming, holding my jean jacket in my hands like a limp, dead thing I am reminded why we write poetry in Spring: because no one wants to hear about the things which keep us warm, nobody wants to admit that we are affected by everything.
When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people. -Abraham Joshua Heschel
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