Brewer suggests a simmer down poem today. This may be more of an extended prose metaphor written in poetic form.
These are not the words she used,
but when you boil it down, it all came down
to: “Are you good enough, faithful enough,
like-me enough to be allowed here?”
And boil down it did. Or up.
It boiled. It takes a day at least
to bring that pot
to galloping roil.
And then the steam rises,
wraiths of steam,
curtains of steam
to shift the appearance of things.
I can’t seem to get to the simmer down part. It seems to want to stay at a boil, and I want to get on with my day for now. I have an itch to start it over, but there’s a small person here who wants me to read to him, and that takes precedence.
1. Long sleep
2. Cool November morning
5. The cycle: That which dies will rise again.
May we walk in Beauty!