The Family by Mary Oliver The dark things of the wood Are coming from their caves, Flexing muscle. They browse the orchard, Nibble the sea of grasses Around our yellow rooms, Scarcely looking in To see what we are doing And if they still know us. We hear them, or think we do: The muzzle lapping moonlight, The tooth in the apple. Put another log on the fire; Mozart, again, on the turntable, Still there is a sorrow With us in the room. We remember the cave. In our dreams we go back Or they come to visit. They also like music. We eat leaves together. They are our brothers. They are the family We have run away from. grateful slice: family
Two weeks ago, I got to eat this wonderful meal here, with my good friend, C. In a line, the future is so bright, I have to wear shades.
Thanks, G. For all the opportunities. Good friends who welcome us into their homes (with hardly a notice).
And this, a view of a booming city and many more breakfasts of champions.
grateful slice: good friends and the future