très riches heures x
elephants call each other by name, study finds
sometimes something strikes you just so: the way the light of late afternoon streams through a window perhaps (as a very small child i’d watch the dust motes and ask myself are these atoms? i’ve heard of atoms, how they dance in this light, oh) or a line from a poem, There is a gold light in certain old paintings and it feels like a calm hand smoothing the wrinkles from a fine linen, the smell of violets, or lavender. this week i read the headline and it was just as so — i took it and put it in every pocket so my hand could hold it whenever i was minded to, fingers touch its smoothness and know its shape, thinking as i did that there is so much, so much i do not know nor had even considered.
(text in italics from Donald Justice’s excellent poem of the same name)