swirls of paint and poetry

I got the stomach bug and woke up with it yesterday at 3:30am. This is not how I imagined I would be spending my weekend. Being sick here at the Farm reminds me of how great living in community can be. As I lay in bed yesterday feeling like the Devil was trying to get out of my body, not only did roomies TSO and RugbyGirl check in on me, so did S and CJ, and Mummy Dearest via the phone, and then Amos came and kept both me and TSO company today as we recouped. Community is swell sometimes.

Being sick this weekend made me think about the positive sides--is there a positive side, you say?--Umm...the Mary Poppins in me says yes, well, let's see: getting sick means being snatched by surprise and forced to lay low; catching up on a good book; watching a few movies; napping; finishing the first season of Mad Men.

Being sick also means reading poetry. Falling into some Pablo Neruda poetry today made me make this weird connection with Marc Chagall. This poem, "In my sky at twilight," reminded me of the Chagall painting, La Mariee (the bride).

"In my sky at twilight"

In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.


The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!

You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.


You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.

~ Pablo Neruda

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