I Found a Small Heart—Tuesday, February 23, 2016

Fixing lunch yesterday, I found a small heart.  Resting in the sack of potatoes,

Heart-PotatoJust waiting for me to notice it!

There it is…that confirmation that love always surrounds us.

┊  ♥

❤

Love shows up in every single place we go. It waits for us…all we have to is look.

 

In the space of heartbeat…the Universe tells us we never stand alone.

Love,

Linda

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16 thoughts on “I Found a Small Heart—Tuesday, February 23, 2016

    • I love it! No I did not know the poem–here it is for others:An Arundel Tomb

      Side by side, their faces blurred,
      The earl and countess lie in stone,
      Their proper habits vaguely shown
      As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,
      And that faint hint of the absurd–
      The little dogs under their feet.

      Such plainess of the pre-baroque
      Hardly involves the eye, until
      It meets his left hand gauntlet, still
      Clasped empty in the other; and
      One sees, with sharp tender shock,
      His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.

      They would not think to lie so long.
      Such faithfulness in effigy
      Was just a detail friends could see:
      A sculptor’s sweet comissioned grace
      Thrown off in helping to prolong
      The Latin names around the base.

      They would not guess how early in
      Their supine stationary voyage
      Their air would change to soundless damage,
      Turn the old tenantry away;
      How soon succeeding eyes begin
      To look, not read. Rigidly they

      Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths
      Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light
      Each summer thronged the grass. A bright
      Litter of birdcalls strewed the same
      Bone-riddled ground. And up the paths
      The endless altered people came,

      Washing at their identity.
      Now, helpless in the hollow of
      An unarmorial age, a trough
      Of smoke in slow suspended skeins
      Above their scrap of history,
      Only an attitude remains:

      Time has transfigured them into
      Untruth. The stone finality
      They hardly meant has come to be
      Their final blazon, and to prove
      Our almost-instinct almost true:
      What will survive of us is love.

      — Philip Larkin. This is the last poem in his 1964 book The Whitsun Weddings,

      I love the last line. Thank you, Pat! Thank you

      Like

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