I just had an impulse to jot this down. Random.
My neighbour had a health crisis this summer. She’s fully recovered and back to normal. Except for one thing. Poetry. She now has bursts of creative expression through poetry. She says it hits her like a bolt; words just popping in her her head without warning or trigger. If she doesn’t get right to it, the words torment her until she commits.
Her modem is Facebook. Her poetry is published for her friends to enjoy. The only problem for me is that her writing is in Ukrainian. Facebook wants to translate but the words are odd and often non-sensical. We have laughed about the weird translations of her verses. Her messages are usually distorted. There’s only a few lines at most and I wish I could read her language.
But today her poem was translated just fine. And it made me sad. It was a bleak message about snow and being alone. I was channeling Farley Mowat. I made a comment on her post; I said it made me sad.
Her response was instantaneous and amazing: sometimes there is beauty in sadness.
I’m just going to ponder that for now.