“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language and next year’s words await another voice.” It’s by T.S. Elliot
My intention (what is an intention? I wonder) is to write every day, at least to try. Not to be like everyone on their cellphones (I’m here. I’m there) but to say what happened. Like this. A beautiful native American man at meditation tonight described saying goodbye to his brother, who died on Jan 2. He said goodbye yesterday, a few weeks later. At the reservoir in the park. He asked his brother to forgive him for not being the brother he should have been. And he stood in the cold and watched the noisy geese come to the park. Were the geese his brother? He said that birds are wonderful. So was he.