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It has to be spread out, the skin of this planet, has to be ironed, the sea in its whiteness; and the hands keep on moving, smoothing the holy surfaces. ----- In Praise of Ironing by Pablo Neruda It has to be loved the way a laundress loves her linens, the way she moves her hands caressing the fine muslins knowing their warp and woof, like a lover coaxing, or a mother praising. It has to be loved as if it were embroidered with flowers and birds and two joined hearts upon it. It has to be stretched and stroked. It has to be celebrated. O this great beloved world and all the creatures in it. It has to be spread out, the skin of this planet. The trees must be washed, and the grasses and mosses. They have to be polished as if made of green brass. The rivers and little streams with their hidden cresses and pale-coloured pebbles and their fool's gold must be washed and starched or shined into brightness, the sheets of lake water smoothed with the hand and the foam of the oceans pressed into neatness. It has to be ironed, the sea in its whiteness.
and pleated and goffered, the flower-blue sea the protean, wine-dark, grey, green, sea with its metres of satin and bolts of brocade. And sky - such an 0! overhead - night and day must be burnished and rubbed by hands that are loving so the blue blazons forth and the stars keep on shining within and above and the hands keep on moving. It has to be made bright, the skin of this planet till it shines in the sun like gold leaf. Archangels then will attend to its metals and polish the rods of its rain. Seraphim will stop singing hosannas to shower it with blessings and blisses and praises and, newly in love, we must draw it and paint it our pencils and brushes and loving caresses smoothing the holy surfaces.
Planet Earth
By: P.K. Page
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