It’s been a long day

luci d'inverno

The blue river is grey at morning
and evening. There is twilight
at dawn and dusk. I lie in the dark
wondering if this quiet in me now
is a beginning or an end.

~ Jack Gilbert, “Waking at Night” (The Greensboro Review, Fall 2008)


Notes:

 

Sunday Morning

L7matrix

It’s enough just to listen to music, to keep asking questions for which there are no answers, to remember paintings seen in a museum, to note the earth’s quiet at dusk, birds’ voices in May, to shiver at the thought that they’re alive, that the gleam of each new dawn is an endless promise.

~ Adam Zagajewski, Slight Exaggeration: An Essay (April 4, 2017)


Notes:

Lightly child, lightly.

I dreaded dawn’s first light.
I did not know what it might say
Of life’s long tangle, or, now finally,
Of the lonely world.

Might dawn yet say:
“The world! How can it be so beautiful?”

~ Robert Penn Warren, from “Aging Painter Sits Where the Great Tower Heaves Down Midnight,” The Collected Poems of Robert Penn Warren


Notes:

  • Photo: via mennyfox55
  • Prior “Lightly child, lightly” Posts? Connect here.
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

cascadia-cody-cobb

Dawn is like dumping milk into an inkwell.
First, there are erratic curdles of white, then streamers.
Shade the bottle for a gray colloid, then watch it whiten a little more.
All of a sudden you’ve got day.
Then start heating the mixture.

~ Roger Zelazny, from The Doors of His Face, The Lamps of His Mouth

 


Notes: Quote – Memory’s Landscape. Photo: Cody Cobb with Cascadia

Dawn in the north. His nose stalks the air.

coffee

I want to describe my life
in hushed tones
like a TV nature program.
Dawn in the north.
His nose stalks the air
for newborn coffee.

~ Jim Harrison & Ted Kooser, Braided Creek: A Conversation in Poetry

 


Notes: Photo via Your Eyes Blaze Out

But dawn— dawn is a gift.

morning-frost-grass-light

There is a rumor of total welcome among the frosts of the winter morning. Beauty has its purposes, which, all our lives and at every season, it is our opportunity, and our joy, to divine. Nothing outside ourselves makes us desire to do so; the questions, and the striving toward answers, come from within. The field I am looking at is perhaps twenty acres altogether, long and broad. The sun has not yet risen but is sending its first showers over the mountains, a kind of rehearsal, a slant light with even a golden cast. I do not exaggerate. The light touches every blade of frozen grass, which then burns as a particular as well as part of the general view. The still-upright weeds have become wands, encased in a temporary shirt of ice and light. Neither does this first light miss the opportunity of the small pond, or the groups of pine trees. And now: enough of silver, behold the pink, even a vague, unsurpassable flush of pale green. It is the performance of this hour only, the dawning of the day, fresh and ever new. This is to say nothing against afternoons, evenings, or even midnight. Each has its portion of the spectacular. But dawn— dawn is a gift. Much is revealed about a person by his or her passion, or indifference, to this opening of the door of day. No one who loves dawn, and is abroad to see it, could be a stranger to me.

~ Mary Oliver, from “Wordsworth’s Mountain” in Upstream: Selected Essays

 


Photo: emeL (magic grass)

Saturday Morning

float-cross-dive-water-peace

I’m begging for stillness.
For calm at the centre of the storm.
When the dawn comes, let it bury me;
let it swallow me whole.

~ Michelle Tudor, from Excerpt


Photo: Ed Freeman with “Underwater” (via Precious Things)

Good Morning

hands-grip

In day’s first hours
consciousness can grasp the world
as the hand grips a sun-warmed stone.

~ Tomas Tranströmer, from “Prelude,“ The Great Enigma: New Collected Poems

 


Notes: Photo – Howard Schatz (via Nini Poppins). Poem: the distance between two doors

 

And then at some point late, late, late at night, say just a bit before dawn…

the most important°

And then one student said that happiness is what happens when you go to bed on the hottest night of the summer, a night so hot you can’t even wear a tee-shirt and you sleep on top of the sheets instead of under them, although try to sleep is probably more accurate. And then at some point late, late, late at night, say just a bit before dawn, the heat finally breaks and the night turns into cool and when you briefly wake up, you notice that you’re almost chilly, and in your groggy, half-consciousness, you reach over and pull the sheet around you and just that flimsy sheet makes it warm enough and you drift back off into a deep sleep. And it’s that reaching, that gesture, that reflex we have to pull what’s warm – whether it’s something or someone – toward us, that feeling we get when we do that, that feeling of being safe in the world and ready for sleep, that’s happiness.

– Paul Schmidtberger, Design Flaws of the Human Condition


Source: Quote – Petrichour. Artwork: the most important° by Kerstin Kuntze

Only the light moves

sun-sunrise

We went down into the silent garden.
Dawn is the time when nothing breathes,
the hour of silence.
Everything is transfixed,
only the light moves.

— Leonora Carrington, The House of Fear.


Notes: Image – Colorful Gradients. Quote: The Vale of Soul-Making

 

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