A dusk walk threaded through pond edge and field lightens the dark edges of memories of returning home as a student. I remember my mother making welcome signs on paper plates. I remember sleeping on buses or being copilot in a friend's car as headlights led the way. The exhaustion of late hours finishing projects coupled with fragile hopes of comfort and happiness stand in the doorway of my childhood home.
"And what we see is our life moving like that,
along the dark edges of everything,
headlights sweeping the blackness,
believing in a thousand fragile and unprovable things.
Looking out for sorrow,
slowing down for happiness,
making all the right turns
right down to the thumping barriers to the sea,
the swirling waves,
the narrow streets, the houses,
the past, the future,
the doorway that belongs
to you and me."
--Mary Oliver from Coming Home
"And what we see is our life moving like that,along the dark edges of everything,
headlights sweeping the blackness,
believing in a thousand fragile and unprovable things.
Looking out for sorrow,
slowing down for happiness,
making all the right turns
right down to the thumping barriers to the sea,
the swirling waves,
the narrow streets, the houses,
the past, the future,
the doorway that belongs
to you and me."
--Mary Oliver from Coming Home
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