 |
(inside cover) WHAT'S AROUND Lucky we stand at all among the rock and cold. Very lucky. The infirm, with warm hearts and eyes to see, rally with bouts of comfort, bouts of motion and clarity. Maggie weeds, lords over the crowded bed of hopefuls, removes the wild ones that starve the brilliant, healthy and acceptable; pulls them all right out of the ground, while a force beyond reckoning leads her toward a state unknown, a place unknown. She wears that bright bandana tight to her head to shroud fresh bareness, once light brown and buoyant. Lucky to hold something, to bend, to feel the sun on her back, to wonder. She lifts her head; examines what's there. She wills her eyes and heart to welcome the spirit of what's around. She cradles the weeds in her hand and, with all the luck in the world, smiles in comfort. |