fairweather friend
a funny scene occurred in my environmental business class yesterday while we were discussing how to post our reading responses on a group message board. after someone suggested we all write journals because they'd be more personal and genuine:
my prof: "well, could everyone just keep a blog? doesn't everyone blog nowadays? who here has a blog?"
rest of class: DEAD silence followed by everyone doing lots of "i mean, well, like in high school i had one maybe" muttering.
why is everyone still so creeped out by blogging? the event was especially funny because that class is completely made up of emotion-filled, hippie kids who absolutely love to rant (aka: most bloggers).
well, tuesday marked the first ice cold shower of the season (there is really nothing better than an ice cold shower after a long, hot run). now it's back to chilly sweater weather. meteorologists have predicted a huge, upcoming thunderstorm since sunday, and so far, not a drop. please, rain! last night amy dropped a pot in the kitchen or did something that sounded like thunder and i got really excited for the storm, but really, for nothing. man, i love weather. i could talk about weather forever.
sometime yesterday afternoon, i randomly remembered a line of this poem, "sleeping in the forest" by mary oliver, from a high school english, and decided to find it and fall in love with it again:
i thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
i slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
all night i heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
all night i rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. by morning
i had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.