Yesterday afternoon, my shoulders were tight and achy from calculating final grades for the spring semester--and from the decisions, transitions, and good byes involved in the end of an academic year.
I needed a break. So I went out on the deck for a few minutes to eat my lunch. As I sat in the sun and felt its warmth, my body relaxed.
Nearby, the iris swayed in the breeze, bringing to mind Wordsworth and his dancing daffodils.
I took a photo and returned to my work, feeling grateful for that moment.
Well said, my friend. And Wordsworth brings to mind our friend Bev.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Heidi. I have fond memories of the Romantics seminar with Bev. I first memorized Wordsworth's poem when I was in fifth or sixth grade in India--before I had ever seen a daffodil. That poem was one of the remnants of the British Raj. In fact, I can remember using my favorite pink oil pastel to fill in a flower in a coloring book; years later, I realized that flower was a daffodil. So yellow would have been the correct color. Just as well I didn't know. I enjoyed the pink pastel.
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