Welcome to the kitchen table where my writing hangs out, drinking tea and talking with the neighbors. Micro-essays, haiku, haibun, and mosaic scenes; Sisyphus, Emerson, acute and chronic conditions, lived time and clock time, the continuous and the contingent, constraints and digressions… Most things here won’t fit into a tidy niche.
The title comes from “Wild Swans,” a 1921 poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay:
I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over.
And what did I see I had not seen before?
Only a question less or a question more;
Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.
Tiresome heart, forever living and dying,
House without air, I leave you and lock your door.
Wild swans, come over the town, come over
The town again, trailing your legs and crying.
What happens when you can’t leave the house to pursue wonder?