When we awaken in the morn, we hear the birds trilling their good morning singing songs. On Saturday we planted our peas and lettuce seeds. Sunday, after a lazy bagel breakfast and the paper, we headed out to distribute our 21 new strawberry plants in the east end of our garlic bed. Our main garlic bed is up front, but we got so excited about planting lots of each variety in October, that we used up half of our '07 squash/pepper/eggplant/ basil/cucumber/tomato bed for more ajo. My two other Sunday highlights were Onsen and Garrison. With Nana here for the weekend, Pablo and I got a little time for peace and relaxation. Usually, we go out Saturday night when she's in town, but this weekend I surprised Nana with a visit to the Hult for the ICCA West Coast Quarterfinals. Very fun!

I don't read Garrison Keillor's articles every Sunday, although I should. Yesterday's was particularly enjoyable and timely, what with the bird song and Valentine's Day this past week. If you have a moment, click on his name above and read before enjoying Roethke's poem below.

I Knew a Woman

by Theodore Roethke

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,

When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;

Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:

The shapes a bright container can contain!

Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,

Or English poets who grew up on Greek

(I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek).

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,

She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;

She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;

I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;

She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,

Coming behind her for her pretty sake

(But what prodigious mowing we did make).

Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:

Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;

She played it quick, she played it light and loose;

My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;

Her several parts could keep a pure repose,

Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose

(She moved in circles, and those circles moved).

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:

I’m martyr to a motion not my own;

What’s freedom for? To know eternity.

I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.

But who would count eternity in days?

These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:

(I measure time by how a body sways).

Bird Song

I Knew a Woman