Today I’m posting my friend Becky’s poem about wasting time on a hobby you love. I spent the day at a yarn festival admiring hand-spun, dyed, and knit sweaters that cost about 5 times as much money and infinitely more time than the machine-made ones you can buy in any clothing store. I believe there’s no economic theory that could possibly explain why thousands of other people were just as excited as I was to be there.
What pastime could be less economically productive?
Owl swivels her tufted attention,
fixing her severity
on a silent stirring
in the fraying field
a mute meditation
my upturned incomprehension.
What activity could be of less social value?
Hawk tears into hare
with his Swiss Army face,
the limp sinew of snow,
a leap of fur
a moment before.
What hobby could be of less measurable benefit?
Egret unfolds her fistful of light,
lifts her improbable wings,
no metaphor for an angel
but the real deal –
You can see for yourself
how Spirit fancies feathers.
What avocation could be a more fervent waste of time?
Only Prayer –
Hummingbird’s eggs are a pair of pearl earrings
nestled in a pocket of lichen and silk –
Loon’s lone lament.