Success

Today I made a reasonably delicious chocolate cake in the microwave. I feel awesome.

Sundry

Today I got called a romantic for the first time. I am not sure what to make of this comment on my identity. I usually consider myself rather unromantic. Perhaps being "romantic" isn't about what a person actually thinks or feels, but about how comfortable they are with those feelings and thoughts, and how much they second-guess them.

In other news, I am low enough on time that I anticipate not blogging for at least another two weeks. Priorities...

Happy Thanksgiving, at any rate!

For Verity

When the depression comes,

(sweeping away the colors,
absorbing all the light,
stilling the quick movements)

call me. Don't sit in silence,

gritting your teeth, gripping your pen,
scraping its point across the paper.
You hold the pen in a clenched fist,

when the depression sweeps your words away
Don't sit in the cold silence

as the people pass in and out,
and never speak your name.

Don't be the only still stone

in a world of leaves flying on the wind
(They start to fall, but they never really land)

when the depression comes
Don't let it sweep over you.

I know, it comes like the cold tide of a grey ocean.
I know, it comes faster than you could ever expect,

sweeping around your bare ankles, swirling the gritty sand.
But don't just stand there,

when the depression comes (cold)
and the wind sweeps in (chilling),

don't stand there (shivering and soaked)--Move, climb:

There is a solid place where you can sit,
and watch the world change:

the falling leaves, the inexorable ocean
and the wind will roar around you

but you'll be on dry ground

When the depression comes: call me.
I will sweep the falling leaves

away.

[I wrote this during my free-writing class. But it was always for you.]

Priorities

I spent my time on a prayer meeting and on boys and Bible study and building Christian community and being a friend. But then I had to choose between finishing homework and getting some sleep. Is this good stewardship of my time? I want to believe I invested my time in worthwhile things--especially since I prayed several times for God to use my time as He willed today.

Four hours of sleep and statistics homework still undone is not what I think of as good time management. What am I doing with my life? All the things that are most important. . . So it must be good time management. . .

Is it selfish of me to want more sleep?

Autumn Trees

We passed through the realm of the trees, who stood in patient crowds upon the rolling hills. The ones by the wayside stared as we passed by, but said nothing--or if they whispered, I did not hear. In the distance, some trees were dancing.

Gold and russet and tawny and scarlet populated the landscape. Barren birches stretch the thinnest white fingers skyward. Perhaps their yearning for verticality drained their color, their substance: they poured their strength into stretching up and up, and could not spare any for other directions and dimensions.

Beside them, less emaciated trees flickered like garnet-red flames. Each leaf blazed with its own fire. The red trees seemed to smile at the world, like girls watching, laughing, tossing their red hair. The birches were austere, serious; these trees were joyous.

As far as the eye could see spread crowd upon crowd of trees, holding their land, watching over it, reaching for the sky. They stand together day after day, each beside the same neighbors season after season, as their branches begin to intertwine, and they drop leaves on each other's feet. Their society must be flourishing, I think, when arboreal cities can cover so many hillsides. 

They outnumbered us--the flame trees, the white birches, the golden maples, the stubbornly green pines. We stuck to the road, and tried not to stare too hard as we went by. We didn't speak to any of the citizens there, and they watched us from a distance.

Someday I would like to go back to that kingdom, and see what the life of a tree is like.