I just like to open all the windows and get colder and bluer.
Well, I mean, not literally.
It's freezing here and I've got the heat cranked.
But I do love a good wallow now and again.
So this morning I decided to read a bunch of Edward Hirsch -- I thought I'd start with The Night Parade because it's very midwestern and a little desolate, but also nostalgic, which fit the bill for where I wanted to be. But one thing led to another and before long I was here, with this poem, feeling different. Lighter. A little warmer. And on my way to the library...
by Edward Hirsch
I wish I could find that skinny, long-beaked boy
who perched in the branches of the old branch library.
He spent the Sabbath flying between the wobbly stacks
and the flimsy wooden tables on the second floor,
(Read the rest here and you can listen to it here, too...)