Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere) arranging
a window, into which people look (while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here) and
changing everything carefully
– E. E. Cummings, from “Spring is like a perhaps hand” in The Complete Poems: 1904-1962
Notes: Poem – Thank you Whiskey River. Photo: Floating by Chris A (Ain, Rhone-Alpes, France)
Every year we have been
witness to it: how the
world descends
into a rich mash, in order that
it may resume.
And therefore
who would cry out
to the petals on the ground
to stay,
knowing, as we must,
how the vivacity of what was, is married
to the vitality of what will be?
I don’t say
it’s easy, but what
else will do
if the love one claims to have for the world
be true?
So let us go on, cheerfully enough,
this and every crisping day,
though the sun be swinging east,
and the ponds be cold and black,
and the sweets of the year be doomed.
~ Mary Oliver, “Lines Written in the Days of Growing Darkness” in A Thousand Mornings
Notes: Poem source – Thank you Karl @ Mindfulbalance. Photo via afaerytalelife
If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze
that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house
and unlatch the door to the canary’s cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,
a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies
seemed so etched in sunlight…
so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting
into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.
– Billy Collins, from “Today” in Poetry Magazine, April 2000
Notes: Photo: Kittux with Canary. Quote: Thank you Whiskey River
Fall.
Naps.
Miami.
Spring.
Canada.
M*A*S*H.
Full moon.
Saturdays.
Snow Days.
Hot shower.
Maple trees.
Warm winds.
Orange Jello.
Family Dinner.
Blog followers.
House Finches.
Fleetwood Mac.
Morning Papers.
Haruki Murakami.
Zeke’s waggy tail.
Shiny black shoes.
Anything àla Mode.
Buttered Spaghetti.
Finishing a long run.
CBS Sunday Morning.
Netflix binge watching.
Milk Chocolate with nuts.
Rachel & Eric coming home.
~ DK
Photo: via Hidden Sanctuary
Everything about autumn is perfect to me. Wooly jumpers, Wellington boots, scarves, thin first, then thick, socks. The low slanting light, the crisp mornings, the chill in my fingers, those last warm sunny days before the rain and the wind. Her moody hues and subdued palate punctuated every now and again by a brilliant orange, scarlet or copper goodbye. She is my true love.
— Alys Fowler, from A Recipe for Rowan Jelly in Toast Magazine
Notes: Quote: Liquid Light and Running Trees. Photo: Comfortably Awkward
~ Abigail Thomas, What Comes Next and How to Like It: A Memoir
Photograph: Precious Things (Johannes Linder by André Hemstedt)
Every spring
is the only spring —
a perpetual astonishment
~ Ellis Peters
Second day of Spring 2015. March 21, 2015. Picture taken outside the front door. 4:55 am. 27° F.
Credits: Poem – Assorted
…soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed
and heavy.
~ Sara Teasdale, from “September Midnight”
Credits: Photograph – The North Wind. Poem: Lit Verve. Sara Teasdale Bio: Poetry Foundation
Become the sky
Take an axe to the prison wall
Escape
Walk out
like someone suddenly born into color.
~ Rumi
Sources: Image – Hungarian Soul. Poem – Make Believe Boutique. Full poem: Poetry-Chaikhana
And every year there is a brief, startling moment
When we pause in the middle of a long walk home and
Suddenly feel something invisible and weightless
Touching our shoulders, sweeping down from the air:
It is the autumn wind pressing against our bodies;
It is the changing light of fall falling on us.
Author: Margaret Atwood
Source: Teaching Literacy
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