#266: I am trying to notice joy
Dear reader,
As the newsletter title and the first poem you will read below says: I am trying to notice joy. It’s not particularly difficult for an ever-curious soul like myself. But I’ve started to notice that being indoors for too long or not cooking (read: ordering in too much) drain me of the ability to find joy.
Still, in this attempt to keep noticing, keep counting the small wins, today’s list of joyful things:
Experimented and made my first Strawberry Espresso Latte at home.
Finished unpacking my suitcase. No more travel for a while. Yay.
The pickled onions smell frigging tart and delicious. 1 more day till I can devour them. Mmm.
Initiated email cleansing deep-dive. (Still at 30k+ but at least I started)
More in tune with the birdsong outside my window. My chirping and attempting to communicate continues
The patience and pleasure of vulnerability involved in writing this list, and then sharing it with you.
Poetry Corner
I can barely get out of bed. So I make tea.
I stand at the window while I wait.
My feet are cold and the radio plays its little sounds.
I do the small thing I know how to do
to care for myself. I am trying to notice joy,
which means survive. I do this all day, and then the next.
A Sunset by Ari Banias
I watch a woman take a photo
of a flowering tree with her phone.
A future where no one will look at it,
perpetual trembling which wasn’t
and isn’t. I have taken photos of a sunset.
In person, “wow” “beautiful”
but the picture can only be
as interesting as a word repeated until emptied.
I think I believe this.
Sunset the word holds more than a photo could.
Since it announces the sun then puts it away.
We went to the poppy preserve
where the poppies were few but generous clumps
of them grew right outside the fence
like a slightly cruel lesson.
I watched your face, just out of reach.
The flowers are diminished by the lens.
The woman tries and tries to make it right
bending her knees, tilting back.
I take a photo of a sunset, with flash.
I who think I have something
to learn from anything learned nothing from the streetlight
that shines obnoxiously into my bedroom.
This is my photo of a tree in bloom.
A thought unfolding
across somebody’s face.
Worm Moon by Mary Oliver (Excerpt)
because it is spring;
because once more the moon and the earth are eloping -
a love match that will bring forth fantastic children
who will learn to stand, walk, and finally run
over the surface of earth;
who will believe, for years,
that everything is possible.
Letters from Yorkshire by Maura Dooley
In February, digging his garden, planting potatoes,
he saw the first lapwings return and came
indoors to write to me, his knuckles singing
as they reddened in the warmth.
It's not romance, simply how things are.
You out there, in the cold, seeing the seasons
turning, me with my heartful of headlines
feeding words onto a blank screen.
Is your life more real because you dig and sow?
You wouldn't say so, breaking ice on a waterbutt,
clearing a path through snow. Still, it's you
who sends me word of that other world
pouring air and light into an envelope. So that
at night, watching the same news in different houses,
our souls tap out messages across the icy miles.
At Least by Raymond Carver (Excerpt)
I hate to seem greedy—I have so much
to be thankful for already.
But I want to get up early one more morning, at least.
And go to my place with some coffee and wait.
Just wait, to see what’s going to happen.
Recommended Listening
This month’s playlist is kinda ready.
Happy dancing/sitting in nature nodding your head.
Links of the Week
Wishing you joy or something like that,
Rohini
As always, soulfull & Brilliant & Honestxxxx