Rain, Red, and Jane Kenyon

Well, surprise, it is raining--still, again, some more, or whatever. But my house is not floating away, so I can be thankful for that anyway as I feel sorrow for Texas residents.

DH has been at it again, his trusty sander blowing up a fine white dust on everything in the house. I admit the board in the kitchen needed to be redone but wouldn't last winter before I cleaned up all the sheetrock dust for months on end have been a better time? I looked at the dining table and even the tablecloth was a layer of gritting white!

So I pulled things apart last night and washed some more. I decided it was a good time to change the silks and placemats as well. I usually switch to summer shades on Memorial Day, but this year I had no motivation to do so. DH came in and saw I was flipping a fresh cloth on the table and asked what I was doing. I told him I was saying goodbye to spring rains and bringing on summer. I was ready for some red, white, and blue. Nothing new, but familiar shades of vibrant reds had to be a promise that June would bring sunshine again.

Meanwhile, my copy of Jane Kenyon’s works arrived. So curling up with her beautiful poetry and a cup of tea is a rain reward. Kenyon’s poetry echoes Robert Frost in that she lived in New England and wrote of simple, daily tasks outside and inside both. I think her poems “Otherwise” and “Let Evening Come” are two of the grandest pieces of work. I wish I could produce just one piece half as good.

                                                       Let Evening Come

                                                Let the light of late afternoon

                                       shine through chinks in the barn, moving   

                                        up the bales as the sun moves down.

                                          Let the cricket take up chafing   

                                           as a woman takes up her needles   

                                          and her yarn. Let evening come.

                                       Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned   

                                       in long grass. Let the stars appear

                                      and the moon disclose her silver horn.

                                      Let the fox go back to its sandy den.   

                                    Let the wind die down. Let the shed   

                                     go black inside. Let evening come.

                                      To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop   

                                      in the oats, to air in the lung   

                                       let evening come.

                                      Let it come, as it will, and don’t   

                                     be afraid. God does not leave us   

                                    comfortless, so let evening come.

    I started keeping a reading journal in 1999 after I read that Louis L’Amour started his own as a young man and kept up the practice leaving at his death many journals that recorded his reading tastes. I  thumbed through my own this week and see I’ve read roughly 800 books since starting my record. 

How about you? Do you keep a reading journal?