Poems, stories, and reflections, written by faculty, staff, and volunteers currently serving in the Village.
Hi all, I am listening to Joni Mitchell, and eating an orange, and outside the rain is washing each flower over and over again, leaving rivulets and dewdrops collected in each crease of petal.
I am thinking about the death that is happening outside the cloister of this valley, and I am thinking about the life that is unfurling heedlessly, bursting out of branches and coating the slopes of tailings that once were surely assumed to be blank and bare forever.
I’m thinking about the scars on my psyche, how they tingle sometimes in the rain like old bones. I’m thinking about the beauty of scars, those thick, shining decorations we gather throughout life.
I am thinking about my own thoughts, and I invent a new word for my current mood: “hopencholy.” Or melanhope?
I’ll work on it. In short, I am thinking about growing and greening things, things that will die, but that grow and green anyway. I am thinking of my place among them, and how a blossom doesn’t judge itself by the length of its bloom.
Becca Carcaterra is Human Resources Assistant at Holden Village. This column was originally published on May 14, 2020 in a daily newsletter, "The Quarantine Quarter," which is compiled by various staff members and sent to all Villagers.