it was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too.
it was only that and light was all it needed
and a certain cleanness and order.
from hemingway's short story, a clean, well lighted place
and i cleaned and rearranged
our apartment this past weekend (pendulous
did most of it),
in part to give our roomie, comfortadore
more space, and in part simply because it was time
to move this to there, and all that
and as i walked through the place afterwards, i was
amazed at the sense of delight that welled up within
me. windows open, light streaming across the empty
floors, objects ordered in a certain way, bookshelves
(of which we have many) brimming with books, and
furniture set with care into positions that felt right.
not out of a sense of duty, of should
, or of my
perfectionistic tendencies, of must
, but simply
out of a desire to have a living space that is not so
fettered by the steady accretion of objects and stuff
to have an unfettered space of one's own. open, ordered.
for a large portion of my life, i gave little thought to
this sort of thing, to the tidying and organizing of my
various possessions and places. but as i grow older, i
grow to appreciate anything that may be done to create
a place of rest, a place of balance, of peace, of well-being.
there is an inward rightness to it, and a resting, and it's good.