Spaces

Today our artist in residence gave a talk about the importance of carving out space for her artwork each day. Her paintings of interior rooms and woods and fabrics were so beautiful that I found myself thinking, "I want to paint like this, too!" Funny reaction, since I can't remember the last time I painted anything. Maybe a wall or the door of my house, which is not the same by any stretch. Right after the art talk, one of our seniors played from memory a piece by Chopin. Same reaction from me, all over again. As the music washed over me I was trying to figure out when and how I could fit in piano lessons.
I'm not sure what came over me during this assembly; I experienced a whole lot of beauty in 45 minutes. And then someone read the following poem, and it just captured perfectly the mood of my life right now. I've been nesting in the loveliest of houses with no TV and no radio for almost five months. I don't miss either a bit. I think the silence must unnerve visitors, but right now I can't imagine living otherwise. My time in this space is wrapping up, but I'm really grateful for the days and weeks and months of possibility that I experienced here.

Afternoon in the House"
by Jane Kenyon

It's quiet here. The cats
sprawl, each
in a favored place.
The geranium leans this way
to see if I'm writing about her:
head all petals, brown
stalks, and those green fans.
So you see,
I am writing about you.

I turn on the radio. Wrong.
Let's not have any noise
in this room, except
the sound of a voice reading a poem.
The cats request
The Meadow Mouse, by Theodore Roethke.

The house settles down on its haunches
for a doze.
I know you are with me, plants,
and cats - and even so, I'm frightened,
sitting in the middle of perfect
possibility.