Lorca has a poem that goes:
FAREWELL
If I die,
leave the balcony open.
The little boy is eating oranges.
(From my balcony I can see him.)
The reaper is harvesting the wheat.
(From my balcony I can hear him.)
If I die,
leave the balcony open!
I am at a certain point in my life, where I think of this poem. I was just sitting outside, on the deck, like a balcony, drinking beer and reading Borges in the sun.
I've been an outdoor guy all my life, and I still love the outdoors, even if it is just sitting outside.
I am very fortunate to have passed this love onto my son and grandchildren, who all love nature, too.
I am fortunate, indeed.
If I die, leave the balcony open!
-- Roger
© Copyright 2011, Roger R. Angle
2 comments:
We will leave the balcony open.
Thanks, dude.
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