On perishable gifts

There will never be time to write every essay, poem, story that presents itself—I know this. Especially now, while my life is so full with the domestic dailiness of raising kids, effort that matters and whose effect lasts a long time yet at the level of the day leaves no trace. (The traces left by the day are usually far messier, stickier). I know that most of the notes I jot down for *some day* won’t ever turn into something finished, something I can share. That’s what happens to so much of what we want to keep for later, return to.

In Annie Dillard’s words, “You open your safe and find ashes.”

I grew up with the story of manna, food that fell from heaven but turned to worms if saved for the following day. Lately I’ve been thinking of manna as a metaphor for what we are given, each day, creatively. Perhaps the thoughts and ideas that arrive and disappear each day are gifts like manna, a form of nourishment that needs to be gathered and shared before night falls.

Manna is essentially perishable. It comes and it goes. I’m hoping this blog will be a place for me to gather some of the day’s gifts, and share them—maybe not every day, but some days.

A place to at least wave to some of the thoughts I want to consider, as they pass.

And I hope these posts can be gifts, in the spirit of something given.

Here’s what fell outside my window today.

Snow on pine

Snow on pine by Jonathan Martin-DeMoor

2 comments to On perishable gifts

Leave a Reply

You can use these HTML tags

<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>