The miracle in the routine
“We ate, and talked, and went to bed…”
On a day like today I’m reminded of Donald Hall’s poem, “Summer Kitchen.” It concludes with the lines:
We ate, and talked, and went to bed,
And slept. It was a miracle.
I’ve always loved this juxtaposition of the routine with the miraculous. With no particular mention of the food or conversation, we’re forced to fill in the details with our imagination.
It almost doesn’t matter what was said or eaten so long as you’re with people you love. People for whom filling up on conversation is just as important as food. People with whom the miraculous is everyday.
Here’s hoping your table is set for them.
Donald Hall is appreciated any day. Thx Jack.
I'd need the context from the poem, of course, but out of context this feels like being able to do the routine things *is* the miracle. Which is a real 2020 mood.