He feels indecisive, worthless, and tired, even colder and more inconsiderate than usual with his colleagues at the University. The news of Sarah’s impending death turns Wells into a tailspin. I see lights up on North Mountain and stars in ther sky.
I go out the front door and stand on the patio. And, praise God, I’ve seen them both in the last year.Įvery night here in Phoenix, I wake up after I’ve been in bed for several hours. She and Ellen are two oldest friends with whom I try to communicate regularly. I was given the poem by my high school friend Arlene. breathing them in for a moment before breathing them out.” This is the most important time of all, the age of divestment,” the poem continues, “knowing what we leave behind is like the fragrance of blossoming trees. “I feel like I’m living in a made-for-tv movie,” their daughter told me. When we cleaned out their house, we found six staplers, as many or more rolls of scotch tape. I remember when my friends Patty and Dale were each attacked by fast-paced cancers. “This is the most important time of all, the age of divestment.” How much time do I want to spend reading about things I can’t change? Can’t my time be more valuably spent watering the yard, talking to one of my sons by telephone, taking a plant to a friend who is recovering from surgery, walking the neighborhood, talking to Raymond, getting barked at by his four little dogs?Įven napping beats ruminating over the Ukraine. Living smaller often involves negotiation. According to Bruce, who had bought several online: Six. For me it started the day I looked into a cutlery drawer and noticed we had a handful of disposable bottle tops for effervescent drinks. Shrinking the world needs to start out small. It starts out: “It’s autumn, and we’re getting rid of books, getting ready to retire, to move to some place smaller, more manageable.”
The poem is called: “I Dare You,” by Dorianne Laux.
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