Things of Life

          I was thinking about the meaning of life when I was scrubbing my kitchen floor. For weeks I was seeing some dark spots and shades of dirt on the tiles, and finally got the energy to do it. I do not particularly like to do this kind of work, but after all  I am happy that I have the physical ability to perform such task, to give a thorough scrub as I kneel, and then stretch wide rinsing and wiping.           I love clean houses. However, my house is not pristinely clean. I do things when I feel like it: one day a sink, another day a tub, another day something else. In a way, I miss my Mom's "complete" cleaning. Sometime before Easter she would bring a robust woman from the countryside and in a day or two everything would be washed: rugs, curtains, windows, floors. At the end of those days I had the smell of clean in my nose. But Mom, you do not wash and soak the hardwood floors-- that's why I have to repolish them...

I feel like sleeping in the woods, Somewhere in the South, And hear many waters dripping, Somehow it would calm me down. I feel like running with the deer, To a hidden spring where water is warm, And bathe with them for a while... Later, they would let me rest my head on their furry bellies, Their breath would dry up my damp feet, In a shelter with evergreen moss, And wild orchids hanging as a curtain at the entrance-- A curtain between two worlds.