![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphI bought nothing Saturday, but slept and behaved decently, and then I made a pot of beans for dinner. The beans turned out well, even though they were a bit old. They were closer to the beans my mom used to make than any I've made before, probably because I didn't try to get fancy with them. They were just basic cowboy style beans, the way they were fixed in the southwest a hundred and fifty years ago. Unfortunately I didn't have any French bread to go with them, and had to substitute ordinary sliced wheat bread. I have enough beans left over for another night, but I doubt I'll get any fresh bread before I eat them.
There is a freeze warning tonight and Sunday night. These are record lows here for November. I don't know if this is a fluke or if it presages an extra chilly winter, but maybe I'll live to find out. Either way I'm glad I got my new blankets, even if thy are individually a bit thin for winter. Piled up they should be quite cozy. My only problem will be getting under them and then out from under them. I don't hoist things as well as I once did. I do very little a well as I once did, other than disintegrate. And (apparently) cook beans. I must buy another package on my next shopping day.
Sunday Verse
by Margaret Atwood
I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head
and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.
There is a freeze warning tonight and Sunday night. These are record lows here for November. I don't know if this is a fluke or if it presages an extra chilly winter, but maybe I'll live to find out. Either way I'm glad I got my new blankets, even if thy are individually a bit thin for winter. Piled up they should be quite cozy. My only problem will be getting under them and then out from under them. I don't hoist things as well as I once did. I do very little a well as I once did, other than disintegrate. And (apparently) cook beans. I must buy another package on my next shopping day.
Sunday Verse
Variation on the Word Sleep
by Margaret Atwood
I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head
and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.
