|
Post by christina61 on Nov 25, 2008 18:02:23 GMT 2
"It is an exquisite early morning here today. Even before the sun rose, the sea out there was luminous in the dawn, and now beyond the dark field it is shining, pale blue, so serene, so beyond human grief or confusion that I suddenly had tears in my eyes as I looked out at it. It feels like a blessing after some days of struggling against an undertow of depression. And it has brought me back to this jounral, which I had almost decided to lay aside until after Christmas."
At Seventy: A Journal, May Sarton, W.W. Norton, 1984.
|
|
|
Post by kbecker on Nov 25, 2008 21:11:44 GMT 2
Lovely! One of the pleasures for me of going home for Christmas is to be in the mountains and take note (in my Moleskine, altho a napkin does in a pinch!) of the shadows on the hills, the way a hawk catches the wind and circles, the way the barn is weathered silver. Like Sarton, those times do feel like a blessing and goodness knows I am familiar with the undertow of depression. Sometimes just the setting down of a word or words constitutes survival. Thanks for this. Kim
|
|