Snow falls all night.
In the darkness, I lie awake thinking about a line from Karl Marx; “Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please; they do not make it under self-selected circumstances.” The line figures predominantly in the book I’m writing — the initial draft nearly finished. More than that, the line is one of the main questions of my life.
In our dark house, the cat and I stand at the back glass door, watching the snow drift down in the cone of the porch light. Upstairs, one daughter reads, the other sleeps. For a little while, the cat and I read on the couch. Just before I turn off the light and head back upstairs, I glance at the pile of index cards penned neatly in my younger daughter’s hand. For school, she has to choose a poem, memorize it, and recite it aloud. I lift the top card and read, Two roads diverged in a yellow wood….
4 thoughts on “Poetry, Philosophy, Piles of Snow”
I am on day two of being sick and reading on the couch. It’s nice to break open the curtains of my solitude and read from your world which always leaves me with much to ponder and think about. xo
Hope you’re feeling better soon. Might be some sunlight in the forecast. 🙂 xo
The Marx quote could set one thinking for a lifetime…
Exactly my thoughts!