From “A Christmas Carol” by George Wither:
So now is come our joyful feast,
Let every man be jolly;
Each room with ivy leaves is dressed,
And every post with holly.
Though some churls at our mirth repine,
Round your foreheads garlands twine,
Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,
And let us all be merry.
From “Moss” by Mary Oliver:
Maybe the idea of the world as flat isn’t a tribal memory or an archetypal memory, but something far older — a fox memory, a worm memory, a moss memory.
Memory of leaping or crawling or shrugging rootlet by rootlet forward, across the flatness of everything.
In this second installment from the Quoddy Head State Park I’m sharing with you the photos I took of the inland trails and the peat bog. This forest is magical. If fairies or gnomes live anywhere in the world, it is here. There is a silence and a stillness, but also the powerful presence of life — so small that the human eye cannot quite see it, but it’s there. It is one of my most favorite places in the world, and whenever I go there I am reminded of all the other forests in which I have wandered and how much I love them, too.
Dear March – Come in –
How glad I am –
I hoped for you before –
Put down your Hat –
You must have walked –
How out of Breath you are –
— from “Dear March – Come in -” by Emily Dickinson
From “Dear March – Come in -” by Emily Dickinson:
Dear March – Come in –
How glad I am –
I hoped for you before –
Put down your Hat –
You must have walked –
How out of Breath you are –
From “Woman at the Window,” by Theodore Deppe:
As in a waking dream, the iron glides down a sleeve
and there’s no tornado, only warnings and warm sun
on a young woman’s cheek and shoulder,
only the way the ordinary light of morning
ravishes her as she stares off
at something beyond the frame.
