Thursday, July 2, 2015

Hedgebrook, Day Eight

Full moon over Deer Lagoon, Whidbey Island

the devourers of books, who exhaust themselves 
only by reading, should desist as soon as they find 
their comprehension more than commonly slow, 
their sight moaty and dimmish, or their eyes hot and watery.

Samuel Tissot, from his Essay on Diseases Incident to 
Literary and Sedentary Persons (1769)

Don't think I haven't felt chagrin, even guilt. I woke this morning and peered over the railing next to my bed, a loft that you reach by ladder. The sun slanted through the small, paned window over the kitchen sink and fell on the floor in a rainbow. Each part of the Hedgebrook cottage is perfect, perfect and sufficient to each moment. My mind might wander to the future, the end of my stay, finger the sore of re-entry, but the solitude here, the birds, the wildflowers gathered from the garden and placed in a jar on the windowsill, one plate, one bowl, one fork, one spoon, one cup to hold coffee conspire to keep me here, now.


  1. Ahhh the gentleness of deer medicine . . .

  2. It all sounds (and looks) like the best ever balm for any soul. Especially a woman's.

  3. This moment is as perfect as it can be.

  4. This sounds like it's just as much a meditative experience as it is a creative one. (Not that the two are mutually exclusive!)

    When I was in the Peace Corps I used to love my tiny life, which for me was always symbolized by the fact that I had exactly one plate and one cup.

  5. Be there. Let the time there be whatever it is. No guilt.



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