Something to distract you from your plunging retirement fund

I have something to relax you while you watch your retirement fund tank.

Walking along in the Bryant Neighborhood after a great breakfast at the Bryant Corner cafe, (which involved frisbee-size pancakes and fat french toast with Oregon marionberries) we’re on 35th Ave NE, and walked by a little wooden box on a post right along the sidewalk – about the size of a bird house.

It was similar to those little free libraries where people trade paperbacks. But this one didn’t have books. This one said, “Poetry, take one.”

And we twisted the wood latch, opened the little door, and there were slips of paper with a short poem on each one.

The one we got is called, “Green Apples” by Ruth Stone.

In August, we carried the old horsehair mattress
To the back porch
And slept with our children in a row.

The wind came up the mountain into the orchard
Telling me something:
Saying something urgent.

I was happy.

The green apples fell on the sloping roof
And rattled down.

The wind was shaking me all night long;
Shaking me in my sleep

Like a definition of love,
Saying, this is the moment.

Here, now.

-Ruth Stone