Saturday Morning

~ Live & Learn

rabbit-nest-empty-meuse

When an animal, a rabbit, say, beds down in a protecting fencerow, the weight and warmth of his curled body leaves a mirroring mark upon the ground. The grasses often appear to have been woven into a birdlike nest, and perhaps were indeed caught and pulled around by the delicate claws as he turned in a circle before subsiding into rest. This soft bowl in the grasses, this body-formed evidence of hare, has a name, an obsolete but beautiful word: meuse. (Enticingly close to Muse, daughter of Memory, and source of inspiration.) Each of us leaves evidence on the earth that in various ways bears our form.

~ Sally Mann, from Hold Still: A Memoir with Photographs

 

Notes: Photo: Merry Magpie Farm. Quote: Brainpickings

15 thoughts on “Saturday Morning”

  2. “Each of us leaves evidence on the earth that in various ways bears our form.” Oh how I love this. I often wonder what people will remember about me when I’m gone. The recent Thanksgiving holiday was filled with memories of my grandmother, who was a phenomenal cook and couldn’t bear to see anyone hungry. The smell of simmering chicken broth, the sight of a perfectly browned crust, the tinkle of a whisk against the side of a glass bowl…brought together at the holidays, they engulf me in a wave of memories and such feelings of intense love that I want to weep. My grandmother=delicious evidence of caring and love shared through a solid meal. I miss her every day…

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

    1. 1) I read your comment 4x. You write so beautifully. I smell the chicken broth. I taste the crust. I hear the whisk against the side of the glass bowl. So amazing. You could package up your comments on my blog and publish – that good.

      2) Your comment reminded me of another Sally Mann quote:

      “Where does the self actually go? All the accumulation of memory — the mist rising from the river and the birth of children and the flying tails of the Arabians in the field — and all the arcane formulas, the passwords, the poultice recipes, the Latin names of trees, the location of the safe deposit key, the complex skills to repair and build and grow and harvest — when someone dies, where does it all go?”

      ~ Sally Mann, from Hold Still: A Memoir with Photographs

      Liked by 3 people

      Reply

      3. Also, I’m on my way reading Jenny Diski’s “In Gratitude” (2016 NY Times Book of the Year Section). She died from cancer in April, earlier this year.

        Where am I going? Nobody knows. Can I come with you? Aye, bye and bye. There is a kind of excitement. This, that I’ve never done, already done, but previously, in a different form, an absolute otherness, nothingness, knowingnessless. That everyone has done, will do, world without end. The ending, and the world going on, going about its daily business. A world without me. To have known but not have any apparatus to know with. The excitement of a newness that is as old as the hills. My turn.

        ~ Jenny Diski, In Gratitude (Bloomsbury, 2016)

        Like

        Reply

  4. Such a beautiful thought, David and I passed this on to numerous others (do your numbers ever reflect that, I wonder?). Donna’s reply was also evocative. I, too, have memories of Thanksgivings past, with loved ones now long gone and traditions that are now changed.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

Leave a Reply