Living is no laughing matter:
you must live with great seriousness
like a squirrel, for example—
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
I mean living must be your whole occupation.
Living is no laughing matter:
you must take it seriously,
so much so and to such a degree
that, for example, your hands tied behind your back,
your back to the wall,
or else in a laboratory
in your white coat and safety glasses,
you can die for people—
even for people whose faces you’ve never seen,
even though you know living
is the most real, the most beautiful thing.
I mean, you must take living so seriously
that even at seventy, for example, you’ll plant olive trees—
and not for your children, either,
but because although you fear death you don’t believe it,
because living, I mean, weighs heavier.
On November 9th, I posted “A Patio Visitor.” It has been returning almost daily and seems to feed mostly on seeds falling from the bird feeders. We enjoy watching it dash around on the patio.
White Winged Dove At Patio Feeder — Image by kenne
Well I hear you in the morning And I hear you at nightfall Sometimes to be near you Is to be unable to feel you, my love I’m a few years older than you (I’m a few years older than you) my love
Just like the white winged dove Sings a song, sounds like she’s singing Ooh, baby, ooh, said ooh Just like the white winged dove Sings a song, sounds like she’s singing Ooh, baby, ooh, said ooh