Some busy days feel busier than others, not because of things to do but because of intensity of things that happen. I often don't know if the intensity is a function of attention paid or the things themselves. Even when some of the conversations were about sadness, the day feels alive and good. A poem for today about the flow of life from Thomas Lux:
A Little Tooth
Your baby grows a tooth, then two,
then four, then five, then she wants some meat
directly from the bone. It's all
over: she'll learn some words, she'll fall
in love with cretins, dolts, a sweet
talker on his way to jail. And you,
your wife, get old, flyblown and rue
nothing you did. You loved, your feet
are sore. It's dusk. Your daughter's tall.
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