Brilliant morning. Intend to plow ahead now with lengthy worktimes. The words are Down. The structure is there. No, one can't have the same vision twice, but one may enter a skeleton and give it flesh and breath and set the heart to beat. As I will now in this phase.
Dipping into the books accruing on the nightstand, including a little heap of things by and about the elder poet Stanley Kunitz (1905-2006), writing here between the ages of 97 and 99:
The storm we had the other day was rather spectacular; I felt it was somehow a message. It seemed so threatening at first, and then suddenly it was just a little downpour. And it dissolved into a quite peaceful late afternoon. I interpret it positively. I had felt a sense of foreboding, certainly for the past few months, and psychologically this seemed to say, "Stop thinking negatively about whatever's happening now. Find out what you can do and do it."And
When the skies are ablaze, it's hard to focus on anything else. We've all been through so many storms, they all seem to merge into a single great storm, lashing across.Ah, the sun is early today in the skylight. So warm against my eyelids, soothing on my face. My forehead unclenches and I had not realized it was furrowed.
In a similar way, when you have an overwhelming emotional or psychological crisis, the taste of it is so full of memories it encompasses the whole history of losses.--Stanley Kunitz, The Wild Braid: A Poet Reflects on a Century in the Garden