Kintyre

Kintyre

better.perspective

foggy mornings 🌫

It was a summer evening; the sun was setting; the sky was blue still, but tinged with gold, as if a thin veil of gauze hung over it, and here and there in the gold-blue amplitude an island of cloud lay suspended.

Virginia Woolf, The Years

‘What Use is Poetry?’ Meena Alexander, 2013

Kawase Hasui

Pine Beach at Miho

1931

Everything That Happens Can Be Called Aging

by Carl Adamshick

I have more love than ever. Our kids have kids soon to have kids. I need them. I need everyone to come over to the house, sleep on the floor, on the couches in the front room. I need noise, too many people in too small a space, I need dancing, the spilling of drinks, the loud pronouncements over music, the verbal sparring, the broken dishes, the wealth. I need it all flying apart. My friends to slam against me, to hold me, to say they love me. I need mornings to ask for favors and forgiveness. I need to give, have all my emotions rattled, my family to be greedy, to keep coming, to keep asking and taking. I need no resolution, just the constant turmoil of living. Give me the bottom of the river, all the unadorned, unfinished, unpraised moments, one good turn on the luxuriant wheel.