And a lovely (small) erasure poem by Dave Bonta got me thinking about ‘little things’:
in the night bog
I part with my road
curious about other things
I lack philosophy enough
to understand bread
or the question of touch —Dave Bonta
~~ ~~ ~~ ~~
Just yesterday, these tiny iris reticulata bloomed along the woodlot’s edge. This evening’s forecast is for a nor’easter and up to 8 inches of snow. So long, for now, little irises. During the brief time I observed you, beauty entered my day.
Can we even understand such small and usual things as bread? As touch? As the winter’s blossoms? Could we entertain an aesthetics of small things?
Or do I lack the philosophy for that?