Last night my older daughter could not sleep, and we were nearing 11:00. More often than not, when I lie down with her she will fall right asleep, but I was also in the middle of doing some reading for my Major Poetry class, specifically Robert Bly’s Silence in the Snowy Fields.
I grabbed my new book light, which is now the best piece of ed tech I know. It’s just a clothes pin with a battery and a tiny light bulb.
I clipped the light to my book, and then my daughter whispered, “What are you reading?”
“I love poems. I wrote one about a tree. And leopards.”
“Do you want me to read some of these to you?”
The poems in Silence in the Snowy Fields are filled with midwestern landscapes and nature. Things my daughter must believe are home by now. Maybe everyone’s home.
The poems are beautiful and read like prayers to small things, and my daughter would interject sometimes, reminding me of the responses I used to hear in church a long time back from now (and also with you):
“That’s nice. I like cricket sounds”
“Read the one about the horse again”
Then she was asleep. Then I was asleep.