This week I sent my son off to Cambodia and my manuscript off to my agent, and then I laid on the floor in my office, watching cardinals eat croutons from my window sill, feeling motherless and unemployed. As a full-on workaholic, I find it difficult to not work, but after a few perfunctory attempts to start my next project, I decided to spend the weekend doing the thing for which I have the least talent: resting. My plan (yes, I admit it, I even make a plan for resting) includes dog-walking, napping, puzzle assembly, a couple of movies, lots of music, and the reading of a few old favorites including The Wind Among the Reeds by William Butler Yeats.From "The Song of Wandering Aengus":
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
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