When I read Barbara Pym's novels, I feel sad that she isn't alive to write more of them and that I'll one day run out of new-to-me Barbara Pym novels to read. There's something about her writing that captures the feelings and thoughts of someone who feels just a little outside of the mainstream, someone who can't help but notice the odd bits and pieces of life.
(The above image is from the Barbara Pym Society home page.)
Right now I'm reading her novel about two friends, Jane and Prudence, and enjoying it very much. Here's a tiny found poem I put together from just a handful of sentences from the first page of chapter one of that book.
Reminiscences
In excited little bursts--
"Ah, these delphiniums," sighed Jane.
"And to think that we didn't
appreciate wine," said Prudence.
They walked on without speaking,
their silence a brief tribute
to their lost youth.
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