The Lovers’ Almanac 23 December – Nothin’ Else Matters – Prose by Norman Maclean

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Almanac from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  Who or what matters to you?  Rhett

The Lovers’ Almanac

Dear Muse,

no worries about
a white christmas here
good, leaves more time
for dreamin’ of another,
other kinda of Christmas…

walked down
to a local bar
yeah,
she was there,
with her friends,
lookin’ great
she said hello
and smiled
all i could ask
her perfume
smelled good
i had a beer
and worked
on a poem
(nothin’ if not
the life of the party)

when i got up to go
she gave me a hug
more than i could hope

verse and a hug
what else matters

© copyright 2017 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Nothin’ Else Matters

Nothin’ I have
to give matters
Except these words

Else I lose myself,
I must keep findin’ ’em
Fore if they do not come
Then will all be lost

Matters not what this way comes

I will find them and give them to you

© copyright 2012 mac tag/Cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

The Song of the Day is “Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica. we do not own the rights to this song. no copyright infringement intended

Norman Fitzroy Maclean
NormanMacleanTeaching1970.jpeg

Today is the birthday of Norman Fitzroy Maclean (Clarinda, Iowa; December 23, 1902 – August 2, 1990 Chicago); American author and scholar noted for his books A River Runs Through It and Other Stories (1976) and Young Men and Fire (1992).

Prose 

A River Runs Through It (1976)

  • The brain gives up a lot less easily than the body.
    • p. 22
  • “Help,” he said “is giving part of yourself to somebody who comes to accept it willingly and needs it badly.”
    • p. 22
  • One of life’s quiet excitements is to stand somewhat apart from yourself and watch yourself softly becoming the author of something beautiful even if it is only a floating ash.
    • p. 68
  • Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
    I am haunted by waters.

Everything that was to happen had happened and everything that was to be seen had gone. It was now one of those moments when nothing remains but an opening in the sky and a story — and maybe something of a poem. Anyway, as you possibly remember, there are these lines in front of the story:

And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose …
These words are now part of the story.

  • “USFS 1919: The Ranger, the Cook, and the Hole in the Sky”, p. 217

Mac Tag

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