The next time I struggle with creation, let me
remember these things.
The nature and the goal of art is to remind us
that we have nothing to live up to.
Like this field, what is tops all my
efforts to be something I'm not.
Wallowing in anxiety about the reality of my
suffering is more injurious than embracing it.
In the end, living is so much more than we give
ourselves credit for.
The Farmer's Almanac tell us to plant
When the moon is new
Water the seeds with your spontaneous tears
Pray for the merciful sunlight
Know that insects burrow from below
And birds watch for the fruit
Rabbits and deer will nibble
And new shoots will emerge from the snow
Long after, when you've almost forgotten
You'll look up at the full golden moon
Amid her billowing skirts of clouds
And remember to harvest.
Myriad designs appear
shifting,
Impossible to predict,
their scope or temperature,
mood or longevity.
How capricious
our elusive, ephemeral life.
That much we
can depend on.
