It’s the weekend and I wish your coming days are as sweet and delicious as ice cream. It feels like lazy summer days are coming to an end for me and my little family. The kids and I start school in less than two weeks and soon we will be very committed to routines and preparation for routines. In the meantime I hope we are able to enjoy these less structured days, I leave you with a beautiful poem by C. Dale Young found while looking for ice cream inspiration.
All the love,
I love. Wouldn’t we all like to start
a poem with “I love . . .”? I would.
I mean, I love the fact there are parallel lines
in the word “parallel,” love how
words sometimes mirror what they mean.
I love mirrors and that stupid tale
about Narcissus. I suppose
there is some Narcissism in that.
You know, Narcissism, what you
remind me to avoid almost all the time.
Yeah, I love Narcissism. I do.
But what I really love is ice cream.
Remember howI told you
no amount of ice cream can survive
a week in my freezer. You didn’t believe me,
did you? No, you didn’t. But you know now
how true that is. I love
that you know my Achilles heel
is non other than ice cream—
so chilly, so common.
And I love fountain pens. I mean
I just love them. Cleaning them,
filling them with ink, fills me
with a kind of joy, even if joy
is so 1950. I know, no one talks about
joy anymore. It is even more taboo
than love. And so, of course, I love joy.
I love the way joy sounds as it exits
your mouth. You know, the word joy.
How joyous is that. It makes me think
of bubbles, chandeliers, dandelions.
I love the way the mind runs
that pathway from bubbles to dandelions.
Yes, I love a lot. And right here,
walking down this street,
I love the way we make
a bridge, a suspension bridge
—almost as beautiful as the
Golden Gate Bridge—swaying
as we walk hand in hand.