By Jane Hirshfield
All the difficult hours and minutes
are like salted plums in a jar.
Wrinkled, turn steeply into themselves,
they mutter something the color of sharkfins to the glass.
Just so, calamity turns toward calmness.
First the jar holds the umeboshi, then the rice does.
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My day sucked, and I'm not going to Seattle to see Daniel this weekend because I'm going to another city to visit a relative who's in the hospital. Let's just leave it at that and look at some late summer photos from Brookside Gardens:
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