The last days of May, daylight stretching seemingly endless, twilight like a breath held long…
Beware when you honor an artist.
You are praising danger.
You are holding out your hand
to the dead and the unborn.
You are counting on what cannot be counted.
The poet’s measures serve anarchic joy.
The story-teller tells one story: freedom.
Above all beware of honoring women artists.
For the housewife will fill the house with lions
and in with the grandmother
come bears, wild horses, great horned owls, coyotes.
Ursula K. Le Guin