To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few. ~ Emily Dickinson
July 18, 2019
While this photo is of a bee and lavender (not clover) in my yard (rather than the prairie), the image still induces a reverie.
Marcel. September 14, 2019
Indecision and reveries are the anesthetics of constructive action. ~ Sylvia Plath
American Robin. January 21, 2020.
A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long. ~ e.e. cummings
Grand Island, NE. June 2, 2020.
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
~ William Wordsworth
American Robin. February 14, 2020.
You have to believe in happiness,
Or happiness never comes …
Ah, that’s the reason a bird can sing –
On his darkest day he believes in Spring.
~ Douglas Malloch
Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.
~ Robert Browning
House Finch and sunflower, October 16, 2019.
Hustler Gulch Hike. July 26, 2018.
Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof. ~ Wallace Stevens
The world is full of poetry. The air is living with its spirit; and the waves dance to the music of its melodies, and sparkle in its brightness.
~ James Gates Percival
The February sunshine steeps your boughs
and tints the buds
and swells the leaves within.
~ William Cullen Bryant
True delicacy is not a fragile thing.
~ James Broughton
This geranium isn’t fragile and neither am I. Sometimes I need a reminder.
Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away all the same, knowing she has wings.
~ Victor Hugo
The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.
~ Rabindranath Tagore
In a pine tree,
A few yards from my window sill,
A brilliant blue jay is springing up and down, up and down,
On a branch.
I laugh, as I see him abandon himself
To entire delight, for he knows as well as I do
That the branch will not break.
~ James Wright
Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.
~ Theodore Roethke
The world is full of poetry.
The air is living with its spirit;
and the waves dance to the music of its melodies,
and sparkle in its brightness.
~ James Gates Percival
Poetry intimidates me so I usually avoid it. But my sister insisted I’d appreciate Mary Oliver’s poems. And I do. Especially this one since right now I’m missing all those amazing birds I saw everywhere in Florida. The very last, um, stanza? (callingkellyrfineman) gets me where I live.
by Mary Oliver
Where the path closed
down and over,
through the scumbled leaves,
through the knotted catbrier,
I kept going. Finally
I could not
save my arms
from thorns; soon
smelled me, hot
and wounded, and came
wheeling and whining.
And that’s how I came
to the edge of the pond:
black and empty
except for a spindle
of bleached reeds
at the far shore
which, as I looked,
into three egrets – – –
of white fire!
Even half-asleep they had
such faith in the world
that had made them – – –
tilting through the water,
by the laws
of their faith not logic,
they opened their wings
softly and stepped
over every dark thing.