This week I’d like you to use this quote by Sylvia Plath: “I talk to God, but the sky is empty” as your point of inspiration
I chose these words from the image: caviar, optimistic yellow, blueblood.
She hadn’t said much the last week, and I knew there was something bothering her. She was a person who let her feelings be known, and her silence was worrying.
We’d retired to the garden, and she was digging, pulling weeds and turning the earth. The garden was a favourite place for her, and she loved the colours she was able to propagate, the bluebloods were particularly brilliant this year.
When she spoke, she took me by surprise. “ I talk to God, but the sky is empty.”
I took in her statement a second or two before replying, “ You mean he isn’t listening?”
“Yes,” she replied,” and I’ve tried everything. I mean I know he’s busy, there so much that must take up his time, and after all, I’m one old woman worrying over something I’m sure he must think is trivial. The other night I questioned you serving up the caviar, for some reason I thought it an unnecessary extravagance forgetting it was something you liked. I’ve started to question so much of what I do. I used to think I was an optimistic person, you know I thought I saw the positive side of so much, but now I wonder if I was totally naïve and God’s punishment is making me wallow in my own misery. I’ve stopped wearing my yellow when I garden, my optimistic yellow you used to call it when I undertook a project you thought was bigger than I could manage. Nowadays I wonder what the point is.”
“He is busy,” I replied, “ and you are right there’s a lot he has to contend with. I think he lets us go at life and lets us find our own way. He’s given us a sense of right and wrong, and we have that ingrained into ourselves, so from that point on its let’s see what happens.”
“We expect too much?” she asked.
“I think so, after all, look what happened the last time he got distracted, there were ice ages, and I’m sure he was planning something significant when he designed the platypus and by the time he realised it was too late and look what he gave us.”
“Yes, that makes a lot of sense.”
With that, she went back to her weeding, and I noticed a more nurturing manner in the way she moved the earth under her trowel.