I'm looking at the lemon tree I planted.
A year ago. I'd need a different pace, a slower one,
A year ago. I'd need a different pace, a slower one,
to observe the growth of its branches, its leaves as they open.
I want a pace like that.
Not like reading a newspaper
but the way a child learns to read,
or the way you quietly decipher the inscription
on an ancient tombstone.
And what a Torah scroll takes an entire year to do
as it rolls its way from Genesis to the death Moses,
I do each day in haste
or in sleepless nights, rolling over from side to side.
The longer you live, the more people there are
who comment on your actions. Like a worker
in a manhole: at the opening above him
people stand around giving free advice
and yelling instructions,
but he's all alone down there in his depths.
By Yehuda Amichai
This poem makes a sense out of what I need. A slower pace. Time goes by fast. Before your eyes can behold, you notice time goes by fast like wind blowing through your window. Don't you sometimes wish you had more time like when we were little and could spend hours doing...well, nothing...nothing important at least. As the older we get, the more busy life gets and sometimes you just have to take a breathe and remember to slow the pace as we all desire a place like that.
By Yehuda Amichai
This poem makes a sense out of what I need. A slower pace. Time goes by fast. Before your eyes can behold, you notice time goes by fast like wind blowing through your window. Don't you sometimes wish you had more time like when we were little and could spend hours doing...well, nothing...nothing important at least. As the older we get, the more busy life gets and sometimes you just have to take a breathe and remember to slow the pace as we all desire a place like that.
