All the Difficult Hours and Minutes
By Jane Hirshfield
All the difficult hours and minutes
are like salted plums in a jar.
Wrinkled, turn steeply into themselves,
they mutter something the color of sharkfins to the glass.
Just so, calamity turns toward calmness.
First the jar holds the umeboshi, then the rice does.
My day sucked, and I'm not going to Seattle to see Daniel this weekend because I'm going to another city to visit a relative who's in the hospital. Let's just leave it at that and look at some late summer photos from Brookside Gardens: