The Flower of Farewell

Somewhere the flower of farewell is blooming.
Endlessly it yields its pollen, which we breathe.
Even in the breeze of this beginning hour we breathe farewell.

Rilke

She drives me crazy (absolutely and completely) but I realize that at this moment in my life, there is nothing I enjoy more, that brings me more true joy than spending time with my daughter. She is whirling poetry, passion, interesting language, soft human and difficult and important compromise all at once.