Last night after sunset I called a friend. She commented on the moon rise. I had been pondering the last light in the western sky. I am glad she inspired me to look for the moon, which was almost full and reflected in the pond.
This morning when Warren and I returned from our morning walk the sky began to spit raindrops. Later, the light drizzle turned to snow flurries. I hunkered down with my last two years worth of notebooks, adding labels and revisiting their contents. The snow was picturesque and although I wanted to make paper cutouts of snow flakes I paged through the incompleteness of my sketchbooks.
The Wonder of the Imperfect
Nothing that I do is finished
so I keep returning to it
lured by the notion that I long
to see the whole of it at last
completed and estranged from me
but no the unfinished is what
I return to as it leads me on
I am made whole by what has just
escaped me as it always does
I am made of incompleteness
the words are not there in words
oh gossamer gossamer breath
moment daylight life untouchable
by no name with no beginning
what do we think we recognize
–W. S. Merwin, The Wonder of the Imperfect