I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

from Mary Oliver's "The Summer Day"

Monday, August 23, 2010

In living color

We interrupt our regularly-scheduled black and white programming to bring you this:



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And now for a closeup (pardon the awful face but it's the best look at the actual bruise that I got):


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First, for a bit of news: my sister had my newest nephew Friday afternoon, a handsome little devil named Thomas. We went up to Columbus for the birth and this is what Will accomplished with his time in the waiting room. Most people go to hospitals after sustaining an injury, but Will prefers to injure himself while actually at the hospital. This little black eye was courtesy of a shelf that he plunged into headlong. Waiting rooms and Will are a horrible combination for everyone involved. Things like this happen. He belongs outside, where he can run and roam and dig and be free. For everyone's sake.

PS. Believe it or not, this is his very first black eye.

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