Words for the thicket
I've never been much of a reader of poetry, but every so often I stumble upon a poem and, for a moment, get what poetry is all about. I found this one quoted by Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird, and loved it so much I'd thought I'd share.
The Wild Rose
Sometimes hidden from me
in daily custom and trust,
so that I live by you unaware
as by the beating of my heart,
Suddenly you flare in my sight,
a wild rose blooming at the edge
of thicket, grace and light
where yesterday was only shade,
and once again I am blessed, choosing
again what I chose before.
Lamott tells me that Barry wrote it for his wife. I wish it graced every anniversary card for middling marriages: for the years without milestone numbers, where the everyday brambles of work and children and "why is the fridge making that noise" threaten to overgrow the relationship that started it all.
It is good to remember deliberately, with intention and regularity, but I treasure those sudden remembrances all the same.
I, too, am so blessed.