Postcards From San Miguel de Allende: Que Currrrrrrumba !

Friday, August 8, 2008

Que Currrrrrrumba !

What a storm we had last night. I could have sworn we were back in Iowa! Thunder and lightening and rain so hard that the patio gutters weren't enough to keep it from seeping in under the doors. Amazing! Roger & Margo have the little casita off the patio and had to wade through 2 inches of water to get to their room! This morning everything is back to normal, the sky is the most amazing shade -like a newborns liquid gaze - the sun is shining and the doves are cooing just outside my window. Looks like it will be another day in paradise.

1 comment:

Laura said...: We had a storm like that here last night too mom. And I said "I feel like I'm back in the Midwest" :) Glad you are having a good time. Talk to you soon.

Love,
Laura; August 9, 2008 at 6:01 PM

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Oh the Places You Will Go !

Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any
direction you choose.
You’re on your own.
And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy
who’ll decide where to go.
You’ll look up and down streets.
Look ‘em over with care.
About some you will say,
“I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains
and your shoes full of feet,
you’re too smart to go down
any not-so-good street.
And you may not find any
you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you’ll head straight out of town.
It's opener there
in the wide open air.
Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.....

Oh the Places You Will Go! ~ Doctor Suess

Between Going and Staying by Octavio Paz

Between going and staying the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.

The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.

All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can't be touched.

Paper, book, pencil, glass, rest
in the shade of their names.

Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.

The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.

I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.

The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.