You are born with your heart in an egg. Then life upends you, and shatters the shell. It leaves you a room to be there fully—so you can cry and sing and scold and call. Then death arrives with its saws and hammers. It cracks your chest until the chest splits and crumbles. And then you fly away.
When I think of what’s happening at the border, I wish my country could remember this verse:
O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!
May God thy gold refine,
Till all success be nobleness,
And every gain divine!
I forgot this one from our trip. In Iceland, everything is so viking that even the busses have horns.
This is a school our ship passed in Iceland. The children stood on a rather distant bluff and hollered hello. We waved, but they kept hollering. So I cupped my hands to my mouth, and I shouted my best halloo. And I scared the crap out of both James and my parents. And my mom ruffled up her sense of family decorum, and she told me to hush. But then the children—they whooped. And in unison, they all shouted, “Welcome to Iceland!”
(Originally posted May 31, 2017)
We’re on a cruise to Iceland! This is a picture of a cruise-ship door, behind which must reside a hose. But wouldn’t it be more exciting if what really lurked there was a 7.12 meter dragon?
(Originally posted May 28, 2017)