Monday, October 7, 2013

this one, she's a beauty

The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

                                             W.B. Yeats

Friday, October 4, 2013

pause for celebration

I used to love my birthday. Even up until my 30s, when babies and toddlers and bone-deep fatigue threatened to derail my excitement for them, I would find myself childlishly restless at the prospect of a day to just celebrate being born. This feeling began creeping up on me a few weeks back when I realised my birthday was not far away, but it didn't last very long. Long enough to count to forty-one.

But in the past few days I've come to a new appreciation of the whole birthday thing. Now I see them as a time of renewal. A time to let go of old fears, old foes, old habits, old ways of thinking. A time to let go of anything that's no longer serving you and make room in your life for something brand new.

It's my birthday tomorrow and I'm feeling excited, but not in a child-like way any more. Unless you count my anticipation of cake. Because that never gets old.