More important things
April 1st, 2020 | 1 Comment
From under my blankets in my Rapunzel tower (everybody is Rapunzel these days, waiting for their prince, but if he comes to me I’ll say, “Hey, um, great timing. I know you want to climb my hair, but could you get me a ladder instead?”) I can pick out several sounds: rain drizzling on metal rooftop, the dog snoring, a couple of cars sloshing by, a crow practicing the trill of an old landline phone (I know it’s a crow—I can see it from here; it’s on the telephone line, just to be clever), and now it’s time to get up, find my slippers, fix coffee, wonder if the day will bring flowers or if I can bring flowers to the day, should I make some art today? ...remembering when Dad would see me building things in the garage with large art supplies like packing boxes and old curtains and paper towel rolls and house paint and ask me, completely flummoxed, “Don’t you have more important things to do?” And what I could have said at the time was, “Dad, I’m seven!”... I can find out today how to help someone who is asking, be a light anyway for someone who isn’t asking aloud but may be having a hard day in solitary confinement: send a note through the air like this one, as Rapunzel might have, send love inside the smallest things, like wild white flowers promising — something!