This morning my mind is dulled for reasons unknown, possibly by the new medication. Thus I did not compose a sonnet for Sonnet Sunday, for which I apologize. In its stead I wrote my first snippet of free verse in two months. Here it is:
rain on the skylight.
Mouthfuls of drops
thread the forest like spores,
pearl my windows.
No light but gray light.
No light but the sky
painted in primer
to the roots of trunks
in a mist of dull silver.
Where are the birds?
Despite my mood impairment I enjoyed Thanksgiving immensely because all three of my daughters and my grandson were there. (Writing the word "grandson" has a strange effect on me. Doesn't it imply something about my age?)
The love of my daughters lifted me up. They alternately hung on my arm as we toured Haight Ashbery and Fisherman's Wharf. Our bond is strong. When I returned home yesterday I cried because I missed them already.
Afterwards we watched "Rushmore," a movie my brother bought me for my birthday. We didn't get the movie, though my brother and daughters are enamored of it. I saw no change in character in the protagonist, no crises that changed his outlook, although near the end he accepts a more realistic goal in obtaining a girlfriend than trying to get laid by a teacher.
Naturally the interruption in my blog was due to the holiday.
I can only wish that others had as sweet a Thanksgiving as I. I was surrounded by the people I most love, including my siblings. Kathleen said it was good to see me laugh. I was skating on love. I will try to hold on to that.
Thanks for stopping by,