All night,
up, counting the hours of sleep,
and the likelihood of falling back asleep and waking up after 8 a.m.
when it would be too late to turn off the computer,
the printer,
the phone,
the TV.

Would coffee be warm enough?

Could I wait to shower,
what if I simply slept through,
waking when I felt rested,
stretching, waiting for another glance out the window
to the bare trees
shining in the sun?

In 3 minutes it will be 5 a.m.

How have I spent the time since 2 a.m.
when I decided to do the crossword
puzzle to get me back to sleep?

What about the CD that I want to start?
Can’t do it, it’s too dark.

What about these weeks when I have been so into these end of year holidays that I have
a poetry book?

Where have you all been, too?

All of this because ‘they’ will be installing a generator in our building today, starting at 8 a.m.

No electricity, no heat,
all turned off for at least 3 hours.
Maybe more.

Why is it so difficult, so challenging to approach this disturbance?
What must I think I must prepare for?

I will enjoy those hours putting my pastels back in good order.

So, when I send this off to you all,
I’m turning off the computer,
stranding myself voluntarily
rather than having it imposed on me.

Well, look at this.
It brought me back to where
I love to be,
in touch with you.

always with love,



It’s a bit after midnight, and I went looking for a poem that would express my astonished delight that my appeal, albeit commercial as a means of earning money for giving presents
for Christmas, was met in a matter of hours.

I know you, you who tune in to my Dailies which are not very daily (!).

I share the early hours of some mornings with you as I search for just the right words that poets have given us.

I want to hear the heart beat of daily life. Only then can I sleep.

So, I found this poem; I’ve shared it before and it is so simple and true:

“Excepting the diner
On the outskirts
The town of Ladora
At 3 a.m.
Was dark but
For my headlights
And up in
One second-story room
A single light
Where someone
Was sick or
Perhaps reading
As I drove past
At seventy
Not thinking
This poem
Is for whoever
Had the light on.”
…………………………DONALD JUSTICE, from Garrison Keillor’s book, Good Poems.

Simply extraordinary gratitude.
Just to know we are all connected in unbelievable ways.

The “balcony is closed” on that appeal of Wednesday, Dec. 5th. The Portraits that will be done are given the space to show up.
All’s well.

always with love,