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| R G Purdy and W N Purdy - DYB DYB DYB |
Wie geht's?
Hope your answer is positive. Speaking of positive - I woke up with a sore throat, cough, runny nose and feeling achy so I did a R.A.T. and it was...POSITIVE!
So, Jacky and I have started a seven day self-isolation from today. We're both triple vaxed so hopefully it's a mild dose and I don't get man-covid (it's lurking - stay away man-covid - you're not wanted here!!)
On to other things:
I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead — you first,” “I like your hat.”
Danusha Laméris
Love and peace - cough cough - Wozza
Slight deviation for this post. First up - the above photo should really have accompanied the previous post but I ran out of time to find it/scan it/crop it and use it.
So - better late than never and all that. It will make sense if you scroll down and read that post - smiley face.
On to the main business - I loved this poem from Danusha Laméris that Swissmiss posted on her blog recently. It's worth sharing so here it is:
Small KindnessI’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead — you first,” “I like your hat.”
Danusha Laméris
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