If you find yourself sitting at your laptop watcing a movie that netflicks accidentally sent to you and you are shaking your head at the interminable squeak coming from GameBoy’s new rock polisher oh, only 20 days of polishing until the stones are ready, you say?, and John has just baked sugar cookies chock-full of hydrogenated oils with shards of sugar glistening glistening on their white tops, and tobycat just let you kiss her head three times before she closed her eyes and fell back asleep. If you happened to have had nearly everything go right today at your prosthetist’s appointment, and you came home walking on your own two feet again never mind that your knee still isn’t fixed yet, and the rain fell and the wind blew and today is your last day of catsitting the wobbly-footed swirly mancat who lives next door. If this is you, then you will be delighted to come across this poem:
Life, you’re beautiful (I say)
you just couldn’t get more fecund,
more befrogged or nighingaily,
more anthillful or sproutspouting.
I’m trying to court life’s favor,
to get into its good graces,
to anticipate its whims.
I’m always the first to bow,
always there where it can see me…
~from “Allegro Ma Non Troppo” by Wislawa Szymborska