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Beginner's Heart
the dark threads, reprised
By
Britton Gildersleeve
I have a copy of this tapestry, one of my favourites. The idea that women made this — centuries ago — that they sat together for probably a decade (1495-1505), creating this thing of such intricate loveliness, among them? I’m awed. I’m also awed at how little light there is in the tapestry: the unicorn, the…
hope’s feathers
By
Britton Gildersleeve
Just a poem today, as I wrestle with a body intent on discomfort. Which leads to thoughts of mortality, of course. And the grateful realisation that I’m basically pretty healthy. Not so my aging mother-in-law, who drifts through twilight days unmoored, like feathers in the air. Here’s a poem that captures far better than I…
sick leave, or, big sky mind
By
Britton Gildersleeve
Food poisoning is the pits. Actually, I can’t think of a publicly permissible word that truly describes the experience. Suffice to say? Horrible. It sneaks up on you, after what seemed like a normal meal, and suddenly you’re sicker than you can remember being. Fever, cold sweats, all the other less-talked-about elements. Miserable. But here’s the…
in praise of fathers, or, Happy Birthday, Daddy
By
Britton Gildersleeve
Today is my father’s birthday. He would be so old: 98. He’s been gone more than 20 years, and I still miss him. In my memory, this is how I always see him — beside the spotless blue&white Buick, tall and still trim, dressed in tropical whites. He was, to me, the handsomest of men.…
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