Landscape with the Fall of Icarus by William Carlos Williams

I)

Here is Williams's poem in full:
According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell
it was spring
a farmer was ploughing
his field
the whole pageantry
of the year was
awake tingling
near
the edge of the sea
concerned
with itself
sweating in the sun
that melted
the wings' wax
unsignificantly
off the coast
there was
a splash quite unnoticed
this was
Icarus drowning

I like almost any Icarus poem. When I read this poem today, I thought about my son calling me immediately after he heard about the disaster in Japan. We were asleep. Didn't know that part of the world was being ripped apart by an earthquake and tsunami. When I was little, it shocked me to find out that rain could fall on one part of town and not another part of town. It still shocks me that one person's death, someone I love, doesn't shake the minds and hearts of the whole world. I know friends who feel the same way. It's like you think the whole world should stop. I guess we can't stop the merry go round and get off because of a drowning off the coast. It has to go "quite unnoticed" or we would lose our minds. We wouldn't feed our babies, type a letter for the boss or nurse someone sick. We just can't stop.We have to keep going.Bruegel

Hourglass

H

I hope it's alright to write my H a day late. First, I thought of time management. Then, I thought of the hour- glass. Just seeing the sand pour through to the other side makes me jittery. Time is running out. I don't think time has ever felt like my friend. Time is what I run after day after day. Time is what I would pay a rich sum for if I had the money. Time is the one constant in my life. It's always there ticking away. I've heard it said that all of us have the same amount of time. Some people just use their time more creatively. What are some time wasters? Complaining, standing still, wringing my hands, lying in bed for hours. I'm sure there are more ways to waste time. I won't name any more ways. I want to know how to handle time like it's a fragile, precious work of glass in a museum. I should even wear white gloves while writing about time. Time is so uniquely special. After all, once it's gone you can't get it back.