Long ago someone I loved bought a set of small salt and pepper shakers for a friend. He showed them to me and I admired the ingenious way the shakers curved into each other. They slipped in my friend’s hand and he carefully fit them together again so they were tucked safely in his palm.

This moment has come back to me over and over and over, through all the years between then and now. Why, I don’t know. But every time I picture those shakers, my friend’s hand, the intent look on his face as he kept them safe, the image goes straight to my heart.

Encounter, by Czeslaw Milosz

We were riding through frozen fields in a wagon at dawn.
A red wing rose in the darkness.

And suddenly a hare ran across the road.
One of us pointed to it with his hand.

That was long ago. Today neither of them is alive,
Not the hare, nor the man who made the gesture.

O my love, where are they, where are they going
The flash of a hand, streak of movement, rustle of pebbles.
I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder.


Click here for more information on Czeslaw Milosz.

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My podcast: Words by Winter