Caught a reading of Robert Bly’s poem “The Blind Old Man” on NPR this morning. It was a really beautiful way to start the day, and touched to that sense of fragile hopefulness I feel so early — a very vulnerable state.
Below is an excerpt. Please read it in its entirety, and if you have a moment, give a listen as well, on The Writer’s Almanac.
Excerpt from “The Blind Old Man” by Robert Bly
“I don’t know why so much sweetness hovers around us.
Nor why the wind blows the curtains in the afternoons,
Nor why the earth mutters so much about its children.
We’ll never know why the snow falls through the night,
Nor how the heron stretches her long legs,
Nor why we feel so abandoned in the morning.”
(Click here to read the whole poem)