This post is my last before I celebrate my first R. S. Thomas-blogging birthday. And I’ve been debating what to give myself as a present.
Webmaster lessons? Nah. I have the best of webmasters, and the price is right. Besides, trying to learn new computer tricks would amplify the gasps of my grey cells.
New eyeglasses for computer work, allowing me to move my eyes from keyboard to screen without lifting my head to relocate my bifocals? Owlish frames?
A red necktie? To wear when I’m reading R. S. Thomas’s poems. That’d be fitting, for Thomas always sported a red tie. But I no longer much care for binding my neck.
A picture of me to pop up whenever I respond to a comment on one of my posts? Perhaps a sort of Kilroy-was-here shot, in which the top part of my face looks out over an open book? Kinda like the idea. Wonder what my webmaster will say?
No matter, I’ve decided to give myself something my webmaster suggested.
It’ll be unwrapped on March 2nd.
I hope I’ll like it.
Maybe you will, too.
The fox drags its wounded belly
Over the snow, the crimson seeds
Of blood burst with a mild explosion,
Soft as excrement, bold as roses.
Over the snow that feels no pity,
Whose white hands can give no healing,
The fox drags its wounded belly.
Poem of R. S. Thomas quoted in this post:
“The fox drags its wounded belly” – “January,” Song at the Year’s Turning , 107; Selected Poems 1946-1968 , 38.