I’ve logged more experience than most with simplicity and the complexity you discover inside simplicity, minimalism and asocial behavior, endurance and landscape.
Here is the truth: I think some deep wisdom inside me (a) sensed the stress, (b) was terrified for me, and (c) gave me something new and hard to focus on in order to prevent me from lapsing into a despair coma — and also to keep me from having a jelly jar of wine in my hand.
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I’m growing fatter at each winter’s coming.
My wineglass filling up again
As I sit behind the wall of my garden.
I have renewed my interest in reading
Chinese poetry of farming and poverty.
While I read, I see myself standing along the roadway
As the emperor is carried past.
I bow in tattered clothing
And return to till his fields.
A bowl of fish heads and rice,
If the village fishermen are lucky.
How lucky I am without war
And hunger to dog me at my heels.
And how good my wine
On this warm November night:
The garden cleaned. My rake
Untangled of weeds, washed, and hung
On the bent-up nail.
Robert P. Cooke