"Yes, the springtimes needed you." -- Rilke, first elegy
Empty glass jars.
Winter overcast light.
Creaking, drafty, unevenly-sinking homes.
All the candle holders I received as wedding gifts: the glass block ones, poured in a mold that left edges like a milk carton would; the single piece of sandstone for four votives in a grid; the small mirrored tray with glass votive holders and molded glass edging. How they all fit on the edges of my bathtub.
Books with their set type and unmoving written language.
* * *
Do the springtimes need me? Do they need me to survive the winter, to witness their arrival? Will they happen if I don't watch?
* * *
Big spike in pain this week, no reason why. Lots of baths with epsom salt and lots of painkillers. Think anti-inflammation and anti-compression thoughts for me.