I sat at the feet of beauty, unable to behold her; Choking as I were, Life draining out of my body, Yet how magical the roses and the greens, The incandescent light of life they emanated, How they must have longed for me to behold them in that very moment, attracted to their spirit, The… Read More Blocks That Are Built ..
I found it strange that you would paint such things, Niccolo Quaratesi said you weren’t quite truthful about the way you behaved, You thought you knew the events unfolding before your eyes, You thought that life would cut you some true self-reliant processes as you stay aware of what seems untrue, You were far too… Read More To Michelangelo
Low-anchored cloud, Newfoundland air, Fountain-head and source of rivers, Dew-cloth, dream-drapery, And napkin spread by fays; Drifting meadow of the air, Where bloom the daisied banks and violets, And in whose fenny labyrinth The bittern booms and heron wades; Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers,— Bear only perfumes and the scent Of healing herbs… Read More Mist – Henry David Thoreau
A dark sail, Like a wild-goose wing, Where the sunset was. The moon soon will silver its sinewy flight Thro the night watches, And the far flight Of those immortal migrants, The ever-returning stars.
Let us take the river path near Fall Hill. There we will negotiate an outcrop with its silvered initials & other bits of graffiti, all the way to the broken edge that overlooks the bend, & hold hands until we can no longer tell where the river ends.