Vat ees dis blog ting

For the last month or so my wife and I have been eating dinner outside in what we think of as our yard and what our youngest daughter's former boyfriend referred to as a park.We live on two acres on the edge of town, still within the city limits but with a very rural feel. We watch the sun set, the hawks sail in twilight, the crows "row "(thank you Ted Hughes) across the sky roost in the fir, a few swallows flicker in twilight. The last week, we sit side by side in the hammock watching for first stars. When the air chills or the mosquitos bite, we go inside maybe watch TV, read, or I look at my oldest and youngest daughters' blogs and then my own to see if anyone has commented. Usually not. When I read my daughters' blogs, I find out a little of what is going on in their lives. Sometimes, it's the day to day, sometimes more than that - a deepening of their lives, a change in their ways of being in this world. I think back to myself at their particular ages and realize our lives have been very different and their lives have been very different, one from the other. Two of my children, another daughter and a son, don't write blogs. Their lives are more distant. We talk occasionally by phone, now and then see one another (we live in different parts of the country/of the world).  & in these blogs, we don't talk directly to one another although we know the others will read them and sometimes respond. The three of us that write blogs love writing. I think it is our resting place, where we change time into music,  sing to others of what we understand about our lives and what befuddles us. My parents never understood this part of me. It hasn't brought me fame or fortune.  At times, it took me to the edge of despair or away from it.  When I write this blog, I reread, rewrite, work to make the writing work, to rub the words together, send out a spark as Pound suggested. Sometimes, the words struggle to find their way; sometimes they breathe deep, make a big wind.