And I am its monk

Rain Travelling

A couple of light-happy plants;
a wingback chair with a library’s worth
of history and character;
Books and paper and ink
and windows, yes, 
windows onto the sea.
A bed in a corner and blankets
brought in from a clothesline.
A prowly cat who comes home
with stories and seedpods
caught in her fur.
The imagination is my monastery
and I am its monk. (John Keats)

Kimberly M. King, RSCJ

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