you can drip with despair all afternoon and still, on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched by the passing foil of the water, the thrush, puffing out its spotted breast, will sing of the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything. — Mary Oliver, “The Poet With His Face in His Hands,” New and… Continue reading Mary Oliver
The Brain — is wider than the Sky — For — put them side by side — The one the other will contain With ease — and You — beside — The Brain is deeper than the sea — For — hold them — Blue to Blue — The one the other will absorb —… Continue reading Emily Dickinson
August of another summer, and once again I am drinking the sun and the lilies again are spread across the water. I know now what they want is to touch each other. I have not been here for many years during which time I kept living my life. Like the heron, who can only croak,… Continue reading Mary Oliver
Dogfish Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing kept flickering in with the tide and looking around. Black as a fisherman’s boot, with a white belly. If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin, which was rough as a thousand sharpened… Continue reading Mary Oliver
heart breaking apart, an instrumental eye and instrumental mind rejoicing, a last cacophony of birds. — Brook Emery, from “Very Like a Whale” Uncommon Light (River Road Press, 2007)
This is June, the month of grass and leaves … already the aspens are trembling again, and a new summer is offered me. — Henry David Thoreau, from “June 6, 1857,” Summer: From the Journal of Henry D. Thoreau, Volume 6. (Kessinger Publishing, LLC, May 26, 2006)
A lake is the landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature. It is earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature. — Henry David Thoreau, Walden. (Princeton University Press; 150th Anniversary edition with a New introduction by John Updike edition April 18, 2004) Originally published 1854.