(no subject)
"If I ever turn evil, the first act I will do is cut off your thumbs."
- My friend's roommate when my friend took a break from playing WoW by playing her PS2.
I have Psalm 23 in German. Music rules.
Thank God they didn't get their act together and toss salt all over the place to make the most unnatural-looking sidewalks again; as it stands outside right now is absolutely still and gorgeous. I like snow just fine, but falling snow is a whole other matter entirely. Wah. Also, I love the natural crunch of fresh snow under my shoes, the slide of ice, following a particular footprint... my only encounters with snow until coming here have for the most part been in the stillness of the wilderness, so the artifice of the perfect snow-cleaned sidewalk is something that dismays me - you don't sow salt in national parks.
This weekend was totally awesome. Just wish it was longer. Stupid weekend.
YOUR HANDS
Pablo Neruda
When your hands go out,
love, toward mine,
what do they bring me flying?
Why did they stop
at my mouth, suddenly,
why do I recognize them
as if then, before,
I had touched them,
as if before they existed
they had passed over
my forehead, my waist?
Their softness came
flying over time,
over the sea, over the smoke,
over the spring,
and when you placed
your hands on my chest,
I recognized those golden
dove wings,
I recognized that clay
and that color of wheat.
All the years of my life
I walked around looking for them.
I went up stairs,
I crossed the roads,
trains carried me,
waters brought me,
and in the skin of the grapes
I thought I touched you.
The wood suddenly
brought me your touch,
the almond announced to me
your secret softness,
until your hands
closed on my chest
and there like two wings
they ended their journey.
- My friend's roommate when my friend took a break from playing WoW by playing her PS2.
I have Psalm 23 in German. Music rules.
Thank God they didn't get their act together and toss salt all over the place to make the most unnatural-looking sidewalks again; as it stands outside right now is absolutely still and gorgeous. I like snow just fine, but falling snow is a whole other matter entirely. Wah. Also, I love the natural crunch of fresh snow under my shoes, the slide of ice, following a particular footprint... my only encounters with snow until coming here have for the most part been in the stillness of the wilderness, so the artifice of the perfect snow-cleaned sidewalk is something that dismays me - you don't sow salt in national parks.
This weekend was totally awesome. Just wish it was longer. Stupid weekend.
YOUR HANDS
Pablo Neruda
When your hands go out,
love, toward mine,
what do they bring me flying?
Why did they stop
at my mouth, suddenly,
why do I recognize them
as if then, before,
I had touched them,
as if before they existed
they had passed over
my forehead, my waist?
Their softness came
flying over time,
over the sea, over the smoke,
over the spring,
and when you placed
your hands on my chest,
I recognized those golden
dove wings,
I recognized that clay
and that color of wheat.
All the years of my life
I walked around looking for them.
I went up stairs,
I crossed the roads,
trains carried me,
waters brought me,
and in the skin of the grapes
I thought I touched you.
The wood suddenly
brought me your touch,
the almond announced to me
your secret softness,
until your hands
closed on my chest
and there like two wings
they ended their journey.