Sigh.

Lazy day. Lazy day. What do I have to say for myself? I am tired, darn it. Everyone needs a day off.
In the words of May Sarton

“I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!”

And I do believe I have been successful in that task as a bright, humid, 95 degree day has turned to a cloudy not so humid maybe 80 degree dusk. Not so bad. I have accomplished something.

Ella is tired. Saggy eyes and lots of yawns. Molly took a 2 and 1/2 hour nap. Perfect day to slow down. We have planned Ella’s birthday party. We are going with a fairy princess theme. 6 girls invited to make fairy houses in the woods-get fairy glitter that Ella and I will make. I think that will be low maintenance with lots of fun potential. I am a little at odds with the fact that Ella would like to invite one boy. I think I will invite him and leave it up to the parents and Levi to decide. He could enjoy building the houses in the woods. And everyone LOVES cake. Am I right, Ally?

And because it is my favorite poem of all time…probably the only poem I really get and respond to-I will share it with you. May Sarton is my homegirl.

SEVEN: Now I Become Myself

Now I become myself. It’s taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people’s faces,
Run madly, as if Time were there,
Terribly old, crying a warning,
“Hurry, you will be dead before–“
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)
Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!
The black shadow on the paper

Is my hand; the shadow of a word
As thought shapes the shaper
Falls heavy on the page, is heard.
All fuses now, falls into place
From wish to action, word to silence,
My work, my love, my time, my face
Gathered into one intense
Gesture of growing like a plant.
As slowly as the ripening fruit
Fertile, detached, and always spent,
Falls but does not exhaust the root,
So all the poem is, can give,
Grows in me to become the song,
Made so and rooted by love.
Now there is time and Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move.
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!

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