My father rode off on his horse to the fields.
My mother sat in a chair and sewed.
My little brother slept.
And I, on my own among the mango trees,
read the story of Robinson Crusoe.
A long story that never ends.
In the white light of noon, a voice that learned lullabies
In shanties from the slave days and never forgot them
called us for coffee.
Coffee as black as the old black maid,
My mother, still sitting there sewing,
looked at me:
“Shhh … Don’t wake the baby.”
Then at the crib where a mosquito had landed.
She uttered a sigh … how deep!
Far away my father was riding
in the ranch’s endless pasture.
And I didn’t know that my story
was more beautiful than Robinson’s Crusoe.
For more information about this Norwegian painter, please access the Guardian at: http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/jonathanjonesblog/2015/dec/30/nikolai-astrup-lost-artist-norway-edvard-munch
My very dear friend, Thanks so much for your thoughts, energy, humanism, and wisdom at this very dark hour. Your words soothe my pain and show me a way out. But we will never forget the lives lost, the victims fighting for their lives at the hospitals, the scars on our minds. Hugs to all your family and to you! 🙂