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Showing posts from October, 2020

A Poet's Journal: April 21st, 2015

  April 21st, 2015 Watching the sunrise leaves us with a greater impression of what a day actually is.  When it starts up from the horizon, it does not have its sights set on how high it will go, nor what it must do, but only in giving off light, in clarifying what appears in front of it.  Our day already begins as the phantom of something we want to be, or have to be; before our eyes have even focused on the sun, we already think about when we can close them again; and so for many of us it never really rises, or hardly ever sets.  Perhaps the only thing decent in the world is to watch the sunlight brighten and fade, and leave all of our other actions to disappear beyond the shadow of doubt. Douglas Thornton

A Poet's Journal: October 19, 2014

  October 19th, 2014 For the past two or three days now, evening has revealed an unexpected joy as it passes into the twilight hour.  The season of migration has come, and I have taken up this passing relationship with things that fly above, to better know them, lest I become a stranger to myself, knowing little of my surroundings.  Yet there are already many dilemmas about which birds I actually see, if they are migratory or not, and their flying formation.  For it is true that there are so many worlds of understanding one on top of the other, and us only living in one of them, that if we ponder the variety of anything that passes before us daily, it seems so far-fetched to believe that we could transcend them with one glance and, if only for a moment, feel what any other may feel just by looking at them.  But this is the most authentic part of our observation; what we see creates the world we live in, and if close enough, may be given the ability to know them, while becoming adept to