The Furious Spinner

Doing a lot of waiting today, a bit of weeping. My friend Linda was just here. She brought yellow apples from her garden, and we watched Dennis Kucinich and Al Sharpton. Dennis gave a good speech. Thanks for all your work, Mr. Kucinich! Al Sharpton was great. He's come a long way. I was crying by the end of his speech, cheering him on. He articulated what I have tried to explain to people. Maybe this country isn't great, but I can see what it could be, so I keep on marching, I keep on writing, I keep on trying. And that's what he said: we keep on marching, we keep on trying, we keep on voting. Because we know what we could be.

When I came home from meeting Mario for his break this morning, a deer was standing in the middle of the road in front of my house. She was a big doe. I whispered, "It's OK, honey. Go back up into the yard. It'll be all right." She sprung up onto the lawn. I followed her—on the other side of the house. She stopped at the Kuan Yin Peace Garden and looked over at me. "It's OK," I said. "Go ahead and eat." She stopped to graze. Then something startled her, and she leaped away. I listened and was glad I didn't hear anything—she must have gotten away safely.

Blessed be.

I missed Jesse Jackson's speech. I must have fallen to sleep for a bit. Kevin said it was a good speech. After listening to it, he looked up the poem that's on the Statue of Liberty, and he sent it to me. (Thanks, Kevin.) I had never read the entire thing before. Perhaps someone should send it to Dubya.

The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus (Isn't that a great name?)

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"


May You Light the Way in Beauty.

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All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.