STYLE
Quiet
Loud
Muted
Whisper
Scream


RECENT ENTRIES
Can You Feel A Little Love?
Just Like Every Day
Holes In The Head
He Said She Said
Your My Best Friend


ARCHIVES
February 2005
January 2005
December 2004
November 2004
October 2004
September 2004
August 2004
July 2004
June 2004
May 2004
April 2004
March 2004
February 2004
January 2004
December 2003
November 2003
October 2003
September 2003
August 2003
July 2003
June 2003
May 2003
April 2003
March 2003
February 2003
January 2003
December 2002
November 2002
October 2002
September 2002
August 2002
July 2002
June 2002
May 2002
April 2002
March 2002
February 2002
January 2002
December 2001
November 2001
October 2001
September 2001
August 2001
July 2001
June 2001
May 2001
April 2001
March 2001
February 2001
January 2001
December 2000


OTHER VOICES


MISCELLANEOUS
Webcam

Motherfucking Suburbia

The silver rain

The shining sun

the fields where scarlet Poppies run

and all the ripples of the wheat

are in the bread that I do eat

So as I sit at every meal

and give thanks

I always feel

that I am eating rain and sun

and fields where scarlet Poppies run.

Amen. Blessings on our meal. Guten Appetit!

I don't know who wrote this poem. We learned it from Kim, a lady I used to be friends with whom I learned a lot of really cool things from but ended up not being able to maintain a normal friendship with. This morning while my girl's were reciting this, as they do before all meals, I realized that they are so far removed from any of the words to it that they are saying something they totally don't understand. They all know what wheat looks like and that it is ground into flour for baking bread but none of them have ever seen a field of wheat growing and known it was wheat or know what is meant by the ripples. I don't think any of them have ever seen a scarlet Poppy either. How sad. Maybe someday we will live near fields of wheat.

Posted by gwendolyn on September 24, 2004 at 09:48 AM