Alan, my sister and I are on Saltspring Island, staying in my mom’s former home, enjoying the day and our memories. We both so love this poem! Even if it did make us cry a little…
I have got to the age now where I can see how short a time we have to be here. And when I think about it, it can seem strange beyond telling that this particular bunch of us should be here on this little patch of ground in this little patch of time, and I can think of the other times and places I might have lived, the other kinds of man I might have been. But there is something else. There are moments when the heart is generous, and then it knows that for better or worse our lives are woven together here, one with one another and with the place and all the living things. - Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow
So specifically lovely. Thank you for sharing a glimpse of your mother with us.
Thank you, Elizabeth!
Yes! 🩵🐬
🙏
A beautiful remembrance. Thanks Alan.
Appreciate it, Ronald!
Very lovely, thank you Alan.
My pleasure!
Alan, my sister and I are on Saltspring Island, staying in my mom’s former home, enjoying the day and our memories. We both so love this poem! Even if it did make us cry a little…
Thank you, Rosemary. Very touching to hear that.
I have got to the age now where I can see how short a time we have to be here. And when I think about it, it can seem strange beyond telling that this particular bunch of us should be here on this little patch of ground in this little patch of time, and I can think of the other times and places I might have lived, the other kinds of man I might have been. But there is something else. There are moments when the heart is generous, and then it knows that for better or worse our lives are woven together here, one with one another and with the place and all the living things. - Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow
Wonderful quote! Love Berry. Thanks.
This poem feels like someone quietly listing all the tiny moments that still carry their mother’s presence.
There’s something so tender in how the everyday things — games, dinners, phone calls — suddenly feel sacred.
I felt that soft ache of realizing how grief hides in the smallest corners of life.
The way he names each detail makes it feel like she’s still woven into his days.
There’s no drama here, just honest love and the kind of missing that never really goes away.
The line about everything being smaller now, yet bigger because she lived, hits straight in the chest.
It captures that strange mix of loss and gratitude that sits with you for years.
I love how the poem honors her through ordinary life, not through grand gestures.
By the end, you feel both the emptiness she left and the warmth she gave.
It’s a quiet, aching reminder of how someone can be gone and still everywhere.
Beautiful. Thank you, Adriao.
So lovely.
Thanks, Margaret!
Beautiful words and photo.