[personal profile] ismo
As I posted on Facebook, I was reading "The Garden Awakening," by Mary Reynolds. She has this to say about being Irish: "The Irish are a cantankerous lot--at once charming, impatient, arrogant, passionate, changeable, colorful, and always a bit unrestrained. Even if we seem tame at times, the wildness is always there, just beneath the surface. You can feel it, along with the ever-present grief, which is also a hair's breadth away."

To understand my German-Irish soul, you must picture Paddy and Helmut locked in a cell together. They have a hatchet and a bottle of whisky. THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE.

Today the sky was pure blue from horizon to horizon. It's new moon, so without a moon to rise, the evening sky was that pure and delicate color that has no name. One bright star shone in the West. More likely a planet, Venus. As Sappho said,
Hesperus, bringing everything that shining Dawn scattered, you bring the sheep, you bring the goat, you bring back the child to its mother.

We went out for a walk. It's the second time this week I've been out, so that's progress. But I feel so deconditioned! Oh heavens. I really must push myself a little, or I won't be able to go up the dunes when it's time to go out to the lake. My poor legs are so stiff and achy. I've been sick too long and now I have to start all over again. Well, what can you do. There really are no options but to put one foot in front of the other and keep going. Sometimes I dream of flying, and I know in my heart I can do it--but in my waking life I can't quite achieve liftoff. I blame Helmut.
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