And come the dawn,
how slow and easy the Sun-beams
Long legs of a great crab,
move through the sea of mist.
~ Takarai Kikaku (1661-1707), Haiku in Mad in Translation by Robin D. Gill
Photo: 6:06 am. 60° F. Low tide. Weed Ave Stamford, CT.
Tag: fog
Lightly Child, Lightly.
I take pictures, not for a living, but for reasons that I’m not quite sure of yet.
~ Petra van der Ree, Rotterdam-based web, text, and image editor via Ignant’s “Petra Van Der Ree’s Photographs Take Us Outside Ourselves (April 29, 2019)
Notes: 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.”
Sunday Morning
the mist
moved slowly across
the field held down
by stones, stitch of trees
what colour was the mist
x-ray grey
how still was it
the iv drip before it falls…
I stopped the car to watch it cross the field
black earth breathing its winter breath…
the field disappeared in the mist
still the bison stood
life can become so still
the iv drip
before it falls
earth of the body
where a life grows
the stillness between silence
and muteness…
– Anne Michaels, from “Bison” in All We Saw: Poems
Notes: Poem from Whiskey River. Photo: Winter Morning Mist by Sébastien Mamy
Saturday Morning
…
Fog in the mornings, hunger for clarity
coffee and bread with sour plum jam.
Numbness of soul in placid neighborhoods.
Lives ticking on as if.
A typewriter’s torrent, suddenly still…
Whatever you bring in your hands, I need to see it…
A cat drinks from a bowl of marigolds – his moment.
Surely the love of life is never-ending…
~ Adrienne Rich, from “To The Days” in Dark Fields of the Republic: Poems 1991-1995
Photo Gif: LivingStills
Saturday Morning
One needs a place (or so I find) where one can spiritually dig oneself in. The weather here has changed to heavy rolling mists and thick soft rain. The mountains disappear very beautifully, one by one. The lake has become grave and one feels the silence. This, instead of being depressing as it is in the South, has a sober charm. In the South there is too much light whereas exquisitely breathtaking fog is all I care about. This grass, too, waving high, with one o’clocks like bubbles and flowering fruit trees like branches of red and white coral. One looks and one becomes absorbed … Do you know what I mean? I feel, at present, I should like to have a small chalet, high up somewhere, and live there for a round year, luxuriating in solitude and harmony.
—Katherine Mansfield, from a letter dated 9 May 1921, The Collected Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume Four, 1920-1921
Notes:
- More from Katherine Mansfield: It’s so easy to forget to attend to these miracles
- Credits: Poem – Thank you rudyoldeschulte. Photograph via squishly
- Katherine Mansfield Bio