Instead, it is cloudy. My butt is pressed firmly onto the desk chair and my eyes are locked onto the cursor as it moves around my computer monitor. My sinuses are congested, and I think it's a cold and not just allergies. I have a headache. I have to pick the kids up in 4 1/2 hours, have dinner ready in 5 1/2 hours, and teach Jazzercise in 7 hours. In the meantime, I am working. So, for these five minutes, I choose to say "fuck it all" and to ponder the meaning of the grasshopper.
The Summer Day by Mary Oliver (from the Poetry 180 series which I also mentioned here).
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