This following came through on November 6th. More food for thought.
#361, c. 1862
What I can do — I will —
Though it be little as a Daffodil —
That I cannot — must be
Unknown to possibility —
Whenever Emily uses the word “possibility” I think she is referring to her life’s work, her poems, her words. Al that potential that resides in the fertile terrain between her ears. It’s all possibility until she realizes it onto the page.
Here she has a quiet morning of small steps. The breadth of the step matters less than the fact of the step itself. Anything worth doing is worth it for its own sake. Not because it makes a giant impression on the world. Certainly the life of the daffodil is worth itself to itself.
This morning I am surrounded by light. Back on the porch. My coffee still warm. I am savoring the dreamscape I have just left. It was the rehearsal dinner for a wedding. My sister was about to marry her husband again. This time it was to be a “real wedding”. Many women at the rehearsal dinner were wearing bridal veils. Except me. I’m there to help with the party. At this wedding, everyone is a bride! But me. So it seems. How exciting. How confusing. (What a relief!) My sister later pointed out that the other women are hiding behind their veils.
Small steps. This is just a rehearsal. A feast in preparation for the union. Practice small steps so you don’t trip along the way. Make sure you get it right. All this is preparation for the “real wedding”.