Twenty-two degrees, cloudy, windy, and freezing drizzle this morning. I asked last night was it November, or April? I can't tell the difference, except everything is green now--whereas in November, it's turning brown and grey.
Thinking of Ray last night--wondering what kind of poem he would write about this spring.
Took a picture of a school of a strange,eel-like fish while in Florida: reminded me of this poem by Ray Carver:
These fish have no eyes
these silver fish that come to me in dreams,
scattering their roe and milt
in the pockets of my brain.
But there's one that comes--
heavy, scarred, silent like the rest,
that simply holds against the current,
closing its dark mouth against
the current, closing and opening
as it holds to the current.
Copyright © 2000 by Tess Gallager. All rights reserved. Vintage Books; (April 4, 2000). Buy this and other Carver books at amazon.com: Click here.