Grad School: Week 9

The Night House

Every day the body works in the field of the world
mending a stone wall
or swinging a sickle through the tall grass-
the grass of civics; the grass of money-
and every night the body curls around itslef and listens for the soft bells of sleep

But the heart is restless and rises
from the body in the middle of the night,
leaves the trapazoidal bedroom
with its thick, pictureless walls
to sit by herself at the kitchen table
and heat some milk in a pan.

And the mind gets up too, puts on a robe
and goes downstairs, lights a cigarette,
and opens a book on engineering.
Even the conscience awakens
and roams from room to room in the dark,
darting away from every mirror like a strange fish.

And the soul is up on the roof
in her nightdress, straddling the ridge,
singing a song about the wildness of the sea
until the first rip of pink appears in the sky.
Then, they all will return to the sleeping body
the way a flock of birds settles back into a tree,

resuming their daily colloquy,
talking to eachother or themselves
even through the heat of the long afternoons.
Which is why the body-that house of voices-
sometimes puts down its metal tongs, its needle, or its pen
to stare into the distance,

to listen to all the names being called
before bending again to its labor.

-Billy Collins

Week 9, like all those before them, was a very full week. My wife, Molly Bass created this video in our backyard feeder as a reminder to slow down. Her blog chronicles life as a transplant from Maine to Nebraska. The switch from ME to NE. I'll take a break from images of pots in process or just opened kiln and sign off with this slow passage of Nuthatches living just behind the house. It's Friday after all, and time for a rest.