Quote

Boredom reigns on all levels. The rain is a welcome change. I have seen the pond swell and the creek surge. I press my palm against the glass, imagining the drops on my skin, imagining where they started out, where they will go, feeling them like a river, rushing, combining, becoming something greater than how they started out.

Mary E. Pearson

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Mary E. Pearson
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: August 14
Teacher
Writer
SoCal
Mary E. Pearson
M.E. Pearson
Creeks
Something
Becoming
Glasses
Drops
Surge
Like
Levels
Presses
Imagining
Reigns
Started
Press
Rushing
Swell
Seen
Skin
Palms
Pond
Feeling
Welcome
Reign
Ponds
Greater
Skins
Boredom
Combining
Feelings
Rivers
Glass
Creek
Change
Rain
River
Palm

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...and time becomes a forgotten detail.
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Father says it will come in time. “Time heals,” he says. I don’t tell him that I don’t know what time is.
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it is amazin, she thinks, how simple appearances can be created - a rush, a smile, a new coat of paint, a slow, calm voice, a hug, a new dress - a resolve to keep out questions and cling to secrets
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I thought grandmothers had to like you. It’s a law or something.
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Whatever you choose for your stationery is your favorite color because it's where you pour your heart out.
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When you are perfect, is there anywhere else to go?
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It's other people who make us wise, and I haven't known nearly enough.
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There are all kinds of friends you make in life... But there's something different about someone who spreads their wings with you.
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I wonder at the weight of a Sparrow.
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On a small planet, where minute follows minute, day follows day, year follows year, where tradition marches on with a deafening, orderly beat -sometimes the order is disturbed by a dreamer, an artist, a scribbler - sometimes the beat is changed one person at a time.
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Picture yourself five years from now. Where do you want to be? Remember that. Every day. That's how you'll get there.
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He believes me. But that is nothing new. He always did because I was a rule follower. I played by the rules he understood. But there are new rules now, ones he doesn't know yet. He'll learn. Just as I'm learning.
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Are the details of our lives who we are, or is it owning those details that makes the difference?
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Chance. It weaves through our lives like a golden thread, sometimes knotting, tangling, and breaking along the way. Loose threads are left hanging, but the in and out, the back and forth continues, the weaving goes on. It doesn't stop.
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My timing is off. But I had to get it out. Some things you have to tell, no matter how stupid they may sound. Some things you can't save for later. There might not be a later.
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I don't want five hundred billion neural chips. I want guts.
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But I am more than a name. More than they tell me
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What I think is all I have left. My mind is the only thing that makes me different from a fancy toaster. What we think does matter-it's all we truly have.
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Words have longer lives than people.
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I created an icicle sculpture in the snow. White on white.
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